Ironic Synchronicity
by ohcEEcho
Summary: COMPLETE It only takes a few minutes, even seconds, to change the course of the future forever. What would have happened if Susan and Lucy had left the stone table before Aslan came back to life?
1. Chapter one

Ironic Synchronity

**A/N: My very first story. I'm not sure how to work very well, so the format might be dodgy or something…some helpful hints would be nice I'm a bit of a technophobe. Any strange spelling is probably due to my stubborn resolve to remain staunchly British… no offense meant.**

**Summary: It only takes a few minutes, even seconds, to change the course of the future forever. What would have happened if Susan and Lucy had left the stone table before Aslan came back to life? How would have affected the rest of the story, if Aslan was not there to save Peter and Edmund from the witch?**

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story. Don't sue, you'll only get a half empty jar of old fashioned jelly babies.

Warnings: Nothing really. A little bloodshed. Not slash, not a Mary sue (shudders) no badly developed female characters, no incest, just sibling love.

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

This story is told from a great many different points of view, and this can get a bit confusing. Anything in italic is a dream, or vision, seen by one of the characters.

And now, the feature presentation:

Chapter one

Henry Pevensie studied the tattered, worn remains of his gloves and frowned, pulling slightly at the frayed, jagged edges. They were sodden, and lay like some sort of creature over his hands, limp and cold. He shuddered. It was always cold here. If it was actually a place…to most, it seemed as though they had entered a dream when they arrived. Just a dream. No, a nightmare. But if this was then nightmare, what of the visions he saw in his sleep? Of his children, his babies, dressed in armour and filled with despair. Which was the dream? Which did he wish more was the dream?

He laid a worn hand over the small bulge in his upper breast pocket, and felt his lips twitch in the shadow of a smile. At least, in some way, he could keep a small part of them near. A little package of their thoughts, their feelings. It kept him rooted; sane. Reminded him that this would end, and that he would eventually get back to them, no matter the cost. Besides, the visions in his sleep were just that: visions. After all, how could they be real? Even as a nightmare, it seemed utterly ridiculous, implausible. Wardrobes? Turkish delight? Father Christmas? No. The mere notion was simply impossible.

And his children were safe; he gave thanks every morning to God for that small mercy. This did all have a purpose, then. He was fighting for something. In the country, Helen had said. A large, luxurious house in the country. Far away from the fighting and the fear, the betrayal and the lies. What could possibly harm them in such a place? As Helen had said, they were just children. His children. And they were where they had to be, safe. And, he hoped, happy. But most of all, he was relieved that they were, at the very least, together.

And that counted for something in itself.

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Go back?

Find the others, then go, leaving him behind? After everything he had done, they had done?

He couldn't. He wouldn't. He had already abandoned them once. He was not going to abandon them again. Not even on Peter's orders; since when had he ever listened to his brother, anyway? He wasn't Father, after all.

Although sometimes he looked very much like him. Edmund had often pondered on the fact. Susan and himself both possessed the dark, somber qualities of their mother; dark brown hair and darker brown eyes, in Edmund's case. Susan's were a deep blue which resembled their grandmother's, old and wise. Lucy, on the other hand, came as a perfect cross between their parents; a strawberry mix of blonde and brunette, with blue eyes verging on the edge of green. Then there was Peter, quite a contrast to all of them, with the sandy blonde of his father and china blue eyes to match.

Edmund had always resented that Peter, with or without his consent, at least carried some of their father with him always. It had often been commented on at home. Not here, though. But that was neither a blessing nor a curse. In some selfish way, Edmund was fervently glad not to have to listen to the coos of how wonderfully Susan composed herself, how perfectly sweet Lucy acted, or how strangely mature his brother seemed. He was not exactly the middle child, but received the disadvantages that came with such a position.

Now more than ever, though, he wished he had just let it go. It was those negative thoughts that had led him to the witch; to betraying his family. And he never wanted to stray down that path again. For Aslan, at the least, he would strive to grow stronger now. He would grow strong enough to protect Lucy, Susan, and even Peter if he ever needed it. Not that that was particularly likely right now, however. But for once, Edmund felt no stab of jealousy as he watched his brother ride at the head of the army, to a war far away from the one they had been sent away from. Only pride, and perhaps a little fear. For all of them.

All was quiet as he watched from the crest of the hill at the oncoming army, waiting. He drew a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the horizon, then back to the front lines. Peter turned to look up at him, and Edmund nodded in consent, feeling only the slightest twinge of gladness of the respect which now had grown between them. Edmund's eyes narrowed as he watched the bear-drawn chariot approach.

The war had begun.

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"Come Lucy."

Lucy lifted her head, feeling groggy, and looked up at her sister through eyes misted with unshed tears. Susan clenched her fist around the bow which now rested in her palm, drawing comfort from its stark reality. She reached with the other for her sister's hand.

"Come away. There is nothing more we can do now. We must go and help the others."

Lucy nodded slightly, feeling herself rising without her heart really wishing it. She never wanted to leave this place. Somehow, it would seem the ultimate betrayal to leave Aslan now, helpless and alone, even though any help was beyond him anyway.

"Susan, do you think…" Lucy swallowed "can we…"

Susan smile shakily down at her, turning them both away from the stone table and down the trodden path towards the woods.

"Yes, Lucy. We will come back when…when the battle is over."

Lucy frowned "Won." She corrected "When the battle is won."

Susan raised her eyes to the hills ahead.

"Yes." She consented "But by whom?"

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The battle was beginning to swing in the witch's favour. Having sent out the armed attack from the air, all Edmund could do was watch and wait for Peter's signal. His fingers clenched around the hilt of the short sword he had received from one of the centaur smiths shortly before the battle, and he watched carefully as some of the warriors on the field swung blades akin to his with lethal precision. He felt a sudden stab of helplessness. He hadn't a clue how to use it. The only practice he had was from brief lessons with Peter and the General and a few minutes of sparring before the battle.

He thought of Susan and Lucy, and drew comfort from the knowledge that they, at least, were safe and hopefully well. Despite Susan being two years older than him, he still felt that sense which all men felt; a duty to protect the fairer sex. Although Edmund knew full well Susan could care for herself, he felt he needed to prove something, to repay Aslan by helping, in some way, in this battle. How, he did not know. But he would be there waiting when it came. He would be ready.

He squinted down the valley through the masses of heaving, lumbering bodies and flashes of metal to try to find the familiar red tunic which signified Peter. He could see nothing. A spark of blue light filled the air, and Edmund's vision snapped to the imposing figure poised, arm outstretched, splint end of her wand still pulsating with the receding magic. Edmund felt a jolt of anger in his stomach at the sight. Many moved to stop the witch, but they fell one after the other to her twin blades.

Quite suddenly, she paused, and seemed to stare at a certain point for a second. Without removing her gaze, she decapitated a nearby fawn and then began advancing slowly up the valley. Edmund frowned, and stepped forward to the very top of the hill and followed her line of vision. At first, he saw nothing particularly out of the ordinary which could have caught the queen's attention. He was just turning his gaze back to the rest of the battle, when a familiar flash of red caught his eye, and his head turned sharply.

Peter.

Horrified, he frantically turned back to find the witch. She was definitely heading for Peter, who was engaged in a fierce battle with a minotaur, and seemed to be losing badly. He had his back to her. She would only need a couple of seconds to reach him once she cleared the edge of a large stone boulder lodged in the edge of the hill.

Without even pausing to think, Edmund began to run blindly, weaving between small stones and large patches of grass, stumbling but not falling, stopping only briefly to regain his balance. The entire world blurred, save for the clear figure of the chain mail clad queen and the unprotected blood red back of his older brother.

Reaching the edge of the boulder which the queen was now nearly clear of, Edmund held his sword with both hands and leapt to the ground beside her, landing with a bone jolting impact and bringing the blade down with all the strength left in his body to descend on her wand. It splintered then shattered with a blinding light, and Edmund fell back as he heard a shriek of rage from somewhere within the light. Then, as the world spun in and out of focus, a blade came searing out of the light speared his stomach.

It was at that moment that Peter turned, and Edmund raised his eyes to see the china blue eyes of his father widen in shock, then saw his brother's face contort with anguish, calling something. But he could hear nothing. He smiled lopsidedly, wondering what game they were playing now, and then felt a wave of agony seep to his bones, surging through him in petrifying convulsions of pain. The blade was withdrawn, and Edmund saw flashes of crystalline blue and deep bloody crimson swirl on the edges of his vision.

Struggling to breath, he stared up at the serene, yet fire strewn blue sky and thought of the swirling blackness which engulfed the heavens in what seemed like a land so very, very far away from this one. And as he saw a phoenix soar in fiery passion, and the sun blaze defiantly overhead he thought only one thing:

'If I were ever to die for any land, I would die for this one.'

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**A/N: (Cowers) So, good? Bad? Please review and let me know! Any flames will be used to power my outdated steam locomotive computer…(kicks computer)**


	2. Chapter two

**A/N: To see any of the story specification stuff, go to chapter one, and DON'T SUE! Anyway…**

Chapter two

Aslan frowned as he led the large group of assorted creatures over the frosted plains towards the wall of hills ahead, over which he could see the arrows dance and the eagles soar. Where were the daughters of Eve? Surely they would have had the sense to stay away from the battle. How fared the battle? He knew himself they were greatly outnumbered, despite their superior skills and advanced resources.

Concerned, he called for a leopard which was sprinting by his left flank, and addressed it without slowing his pace.

"Run to the woods, and search all the surrounding hills for the daughters of Eve. If found, bring them to the crest of the third hill to the east."

The leopard, who was named Salem, inclined his head, and then leapt away across the plain, heading for the edges of the woods and the hills to the west. Aslan turned his gaze once again to the sounds of ferocious combat resounding around the surrounding landscape.

He hoped the sons of Adam fared well in the battle.

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Peter could feel his lungs burning with the effort of drawing enough breath to keep up with his senses. His body was tiring, he could feel it. He was not sure how much longer could keep fighting with sheer will power. But what else did he have? He saw again and again the image of Edmund, smiling weakly, stabbed with the edge of the wand he may well have given his life to destroy. His brother. He had sworn to protect them! He had promised his mother, his father, his God. How could he have failed them so? And where were Susan and Lucy? Were they safe?

The witch could sense his fatigue, and slowed with him, teasing him. He swung with a wild fury which was draining his strength faster than the physical exertion. The glistening, crimson tainted sword seemed to be growing heavier with every movement, and his arms arched with tiredness, his heart beating against his chest, deafening him. Edmund. Susan. Lucy. Father. Mother. God. He couldn't just give up; they had all given too much to let it all be for nothing. He stared into the cold, dead eyes of the witch and felt one final surge of strength flood his senses, replenishing his strength.

In a flurry of blows, he realized with a heavy weight settling on his chest that even this wasn't enough. He simply was not strong enough. He had failed Edmund, failed them all. Every good creature in Narnia was depending on him to free them, and he was not strong enough. He had failed.

The witch knocked him to the ground, blade descending with deadly speed. Peter watched, frozen, as his every hope, his very world seemed to shatter before his eyes.

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Susan and Lucy reached the edges of the trees, and turned for the first time to look back at the large stone structure settled neatly in between two almost identical hills. Only the large archway was visible, and Lucy gripped Susan's hand a little tighter. Susan responded in kind, and they clambered on up the hill, Lucy lagging behind a little to stare out across the plains, squinting in the bright rays of the midday sun.

Quite suddenly, she stopped, and Susan almost stumbled and fell at the movement. She turned to berate her sister, when she saw the look of joyous of wonder on her younger sister's face. Lucy turned excitedly to Susan and pointed out to the east.

"Oh, look Susan! Look!"

And Susan followed the pointing hand, and her eyes widened in wonder, too, at what she saw.

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Aslan jumped with feline grace from rock to rock, leading the way up to the top of the hill, where the glint of the sun reflected from the armour of the centaur archers positioned there. A leopard, Sorlim, brother to the scout sent to find Susan and Lucy, put on a burst of speed to catch up to him and strode alongside him, slightly out of breath.

"Begging your pardon sire, but there, to the west!"

Aslan paused and turned to stare to where Sorlim was looking, and saw the leaping figure of Salem sprinting at great speed, bearing two small figures on his back. Aslan felt a great weight leave his chest as he waited patiently for the trio to reach the bottom of the hill, where Susan and Lucy dismounted and scrambled hurriedly up the hill on foot, tears streaming down their cheeks, to greet their friend.

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The witch slammed the blade of the boy's own sword into the edges of his chain mail with malicious strength, and smiled down as he jerked violently and stared up at her with a mixture of loathing and fear. She glanced towards the prone figure of the younger boy and put on a face of fake sadness, tutting.

"Really, little Prince, I had expected better. At least the runt managed to get a hit in. Pathetic, really. Would you like to beg for mercy? I have all the time in the world."

He said nothing, glancing frantically between her and the other son of Adam, seemingly more concerned for his brother than himself. He shouldn't be. At least he was able to save his own skin, but apparently Aslan's pitiful sense of honour had rubbed off on the runts. Pity, really. She had been looking forward to a nice fresh amount of groveling, but apparently the boy was just as useless and unamusing as his brother had turned out to be. She sighed.

"Very well, little Prince. Say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy, now."

She raised her sword to strike, when a sudden uproar of noise pulsated across the battlefield like a holy mantra. Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened impossibly as she looked up at the lone figure which had now appeared over the crest of the hill in an utterly cliché emblazoned shadow of sunlight.

"It cannot be…"

Seething now, she turned her attention back to the boy, who was now struggling to see what she was staring at. Reconsidering the situation, the witch deliberated for a moment, then flipped her sword so the blade rested in her palm and struck the boy with crushing force on the left temple.

He went utterly limp almost immediately. She smiled, and straightened, eyes glancing back to where the other boy still lay, immobile, guarded by the ever faithful Krimlock.

It seemed her policy of 'no prisoners' was about to be overruled. She reached down and grabbed the eldest son of Adam by the collar and turned, sparing only a brief glance to the anomaly which had caused the complete disarray she now saw ahead. It seemed the boy would be of some use after all. How utterly ironic. She smirked.

She wasn't beaten yet.

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Henry Pevensie woke with a strangled cry, and a number of men by him hushed him irritably. He gazed around, shaking off the misty veil of sleep which still shrouded his vision, and shuddered. It had been worse this time. A sacrificial lion, Edmund, stabbed…horrible. He felt a rush of fear unlike anything he had ever felt when the shelling hours began, and the world blurred and screamed around him. He clutched the small parcel between his hands, the coarse string binding it digging into his palm.

That woman…no, that thing…had seemed so…cold. Far colder than he had ever felt before in his life. Were these predictions, warnings? Was God trying to tell him something, about his children? He surely hoped not. He would rather know of his children's safety than their danger, regardless of the price he, others may have to pay. He shook his head, dispelling sleep violently as the siren blared over the top of the trench. The shelling began in less than a few seconds. He was no use to his family dead.

Besides, as long as they were together, they would be alright. And with that comforting thought, Henry Pevensie closed his eyes and braced himself against the wall of the dugout, waiting.

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The witch contorted her fingers into a claw like formation, and a small, clear vial of crystalline blue liquid spun and weaved itself into the crevice of her palm. She flicked open the stopper with a long, marred fingernail and held it over the now still figure of the youngest son of Adam. She dipped it sharply and the cool, gelatinous liquid slid over the rim of the stopper and pooled on the gaping wound in the boy's side. It congealed and bubbled, then sank through the chain mail, undershirt and skin with a soft hiss.

Satisfied, for the present, the witch fingered her broken wand and sneered slightly towards the two boys lying unconscious at her feet. But now was not the time for such things, she concluded. She would call upon her most trusted follower in order to retreat without fear of being seen. Closing her eyes, she steepled her fingers and began to chant softly under her breath.

To Edmund, who was now half aware of his surroundings, the world seemed to spin in and out of focus, before a dreadful cold began to seep through him. It reached icy tendrils down his spin, and spun a small cocoon around his heart, and he felt his chest shudder with revulsion. Before he could ponder anymore on himself, an explosion of fragments of frosted glass and ice erupted beneath him, and he watched his world fade as he fell.

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**A/N: Well, now we're veering away from the original plot, aren't we? Please review!**


	3. Chapter three

**A/N: Don't be put off by Cifel, he's more of a plot device than an actual character…this chapter begins with Edmund's dream.**

**Cifel: (sulks)**

Chapter three

_Laughter._

_Laughter on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, children's laughter._

"_Co' won, Ed!"_

_Edmund jumped, and looked down, to see Lucy, but not as he knew her now. She wore a small blue, flower printed dress, and was half his height. She clutched a bright red bucket and yellow spade. She laughed, and padded, stumbling slightly, across the wet sand towards where the tide reached its highest point. There, two other small children, one with plaited brown hair, the other with windswept blond, stooped over the nearest tail of seaweed._

"_It's a fish!"_

"_Don't be stupid! It has no eyes. All fish have eyes."_

"_It do!"_

"_No, Lu, that's a shell…and you say 'it does' not 'it do'…"_

_He remembered this all too well. Five years ago from now, a holiday in Blackpool. Edmund whirled around, and saw the silhouetted figure of his mother, sitting in a deckchair, and she smiled and waved at him. Shaking his head, he turned back to the three small children, poking the large clump of seaweed cautiously. He watched them, a small smile growing on his face. It felt foreign. Peter had been…nine, then, and Susan eight, Lucy four and he himself six. They seemed a lot…smaller than they had then._

"_Don't touch it, Peter!"_

"_It's just a fish!"_

"_It's NOT a fish!"_

_He walked shakily over to join them, trying desperately to recall what had happened that holiday. When they had been looking at the seaweed, father had been buying ice cream, mother reading a book in the deckchair. Then, Lucy and Susan had gotten wet, and run back to the warmth of the waiting towels drying in the setting sun, hair lank and in clumps but still smiling. And then…he and Peter had gone to explore the rock pools left by the tide._

_Edmund was jolted out of his reverie as there were screams of laughter, then Susan and Lucy, hand in hand, raced back up the sand dunes towards their mother. Edmund looked down to see Peter, trousers rolled up into lopsided clumps around his knees, holding a spade which was almost as big as he was. He watched his sisters go, smiling slightly, before turning to look up at Edmund. Edmund felt a small sense of accomplishment in looking down on his older brother. He had always wondered what it would be like to one day grow taller than Peter._

"_I'm going to explore the rocks. You coming?"_

_Edmund nodded numbly, and followed his brother at a slow jog. Where was he? Was he dreaming? What had happened? He…couldn't remember…there was a white light, and sharded glass…a battle…a lion, a witch…_

"_ED!"_

_Peter had stopped, now standing at the bottom of the sharp rock which marked the beginning of the rockpools. He looked impatient, and tapped his foot against the sand._

"_Come on! You're not chicken, are you?"_

_The world was spinning slightly. There were voices, far off, calling, shouting, crying. The battle…there had been a large bull, horses with human torsos…a general in armour…the witch…a wand, broken, a blinding white light…_

_The beach shook, and Edmund could hear the far off cries of his sisters, and his mother's frantic cries for her sons to come to her. He stared down at his brother, whose china blue eyes had suddenly gone wide with fear._

"_Edmund?"_

_He said, uncertainly, dropping the spade and stepping forward to stand right beside him. His shirt had changed colour. It was now a deep red, with a lion, reared mid-roar. It appeared to be writhing pain rather than majestically stating its courage, however. _

_There were screams and cries from up the beach, and they both turned to see the upper beach swirling, caving in on itself, forming a deep crevice. The sea came crashing forwards, and Edmund reached desperately for the younger Peter's hand, only to find the child was not beside him anymore. He stared around, wildly, and felt his heart fill with a very familiar despair._

"_Mother! Father!"_

_The darkness pressed in, forming a black void around him, but he could still hear their echoing cries all around him. Susan, Lucy, Peter…_

"_Where are you!"_

_But they were gone._

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The witch languished on her ice carved throne, surveying the scene before her with a small smirk. Krimlock stood, axe at hand, beside the two limp forms of the son's of Adam, lying side by side on the floor of the throne room. The youngest was pale faced and blue lipped, lying quite still, and the witch confirmed with satisfaction that the healing magic had worked. The eldest was flushed, his breathing shallow, and shuddered with each breath he drew. But he would not die. He was fine, apart from the physical stress he had exerted.

And finally, currently surveying the carved engravings upon the walls of her throne room, stood what would have appeared to be a man. He was tall, and wore a simple black tunic with grey embroidered sleeves, white leggings and brown leather boots. He would be entirely unremarkable, were it not for his overly pale face, deep blue shoulder length hair streaked with sky blue and contrasting crimson eyes. He bore and air of dignity and shrouds of mist seemed to cling to him as though he was a saviour.

He appeared to be only about eighteen, but his dark burgundy eyes held a wisdom which spoke otherwise. He eyed the carvings with disdain, and fingered each experimentally. He paused, and then turned to regard the queen with an impassive, slightly arrogant gaze.

"Cifel. I would say it is a pleasure…though truly, it is not."

Cifel leant back against the wall, the said structure hissing and melting, molding with the curves his body. He eyed her with slight mocking disappointment, a single eyebrow raised.

"Your magic has grown no stronger, I see."

The witch clenched her teeth and snarled, her lips curling into a thin sneer. This being was her greatest triumph of magic, she had to remember that. It was a pity he had turned out to be such a brat. The witch drew herself up and tapped her fingernails idly against the sides of her throne.

"Strength has nothing to do with power, it would seem." She eyed him with a smirk "As I have so easily enrolled you to my service."

Cifel bristled, and his brow furrowed into a menacing, scathing glare. The witch laughed coldly, drawing strength from his anger. Her face fell as her eyes were drawn once again to the crumpled figures of the sons of Adam, still sprawled across the floor.

"But to the matter at hand. I have summoned you to be the guardian of the youngest son of Adam."

Cifel moved away from the wall, descended the steps to the main floor and circled the two forms slowly, eyes studying each in turn. After a time he looked up, eyebrow once again raised in questioning.

"That is a strange request."

The witch leant back in her seat, folding her hands in her lap as she did so.

"It is not a request; it is an order, as you well know. I have plans for this boy. He may, after all, be just the thing I need."

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Cifel leant down, and placed a cool hand on the flushed cheek of the eldest son of Adam; Peter, his name was, if Cifel could read correctly. The rock, also derived as Simon. Fourteen. Resembled his father. Element, earth, for steadfast courage. A turbulent, weary and troubled aura the colour and hue of dawn light. Elder brother to three. And the other boy, the boy which Jadis had summoned him here to guide. Edmund, for regality, and just, wise, fair judgment. Twelve. Resembled his mother, disposition of his father. Element, air, for wise wandering one. A raging storm of undecided thought, the sheen of a shining blade, pulsating. Brother to three.

"Now is not the time." The witch snapped, bringing Cifel back to reality with a jolt "I shall give you the proper details of the boy presently. First, I have another task for you."

Cifel stared at her, not attempting to read her as he did others. He knew he was unable. It was both a blessing, and a curse, which he had to gather the patience to bear. He needed to; he had no choice.

'Oh, cursed and blessed children of the forbidden earth. How I love you, and yet hate you so.'

He would do the witches bidding; he was bound too. But that did not mean that some day, somehow, he would find a weak point, a loophole, and finally be free of this hell. Maybe this was the opportunity he had been waiting for.

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**A/N: Cifel is my own character. He's my first, actually, unless you count Sorlim and Salem. I hope he's not too badly developed…you will find out more about him as the story progresses. He's not that important, however.**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter four

Chapter four

**Thanks so much to Capegio, jumanji, Aangsgal and Aibari for the encouraging reviews! Yes, I realize this is a very confusing story. And I'm afraid it only get's more confusing as it progresses! I will include an explanation of the dreams in chapter five.**

**(A/N: This little section at the beginning is referring to Peter, Edmund and Henry (their father) all at the same time…if that makes sense -- the idea is that they are all at the point of complete despair)**

**Also, the dream sequence is NOT a default; you must be patient and read it all the way through.**

Chapter 4

He was cold.

His bones shuddered with the oppressive bite of the tendrils of darkness seeping throughout his body. It was nothing like any cold he had felt before, but one which ran deeper, and penetrated farther into the very core of his soul. He wished fervently a mere shiver could dispel its icy shroud, but he could barely move. He implored his body to move, anything, to regain any semblance of warmth.

He was cold...

So very cold.

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_Laughter._

_Laughter on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, children's laughter._

"_Co' won, Ed!"_

_There she was again, blue, flower printed dress, half his height. Her hands once again clutched the bright red bucket and yellow spade. She laughed, and padded, stumbling slightly, across the wet sand towards where the tide reached its highest point, as they had done so before. There, the familiar two small children, one with plaited brown hair, the other with windswept blond, stooped over the nearest tail of seaweed._

"_It's a fish!"_

"_Don't be stupid! It has no eyes. All fish have eyes."_

"_It do!"_

"_No, Lu, that's a shell…and you say 'it does' not 'it do'…"_

_Edmund frowned, and hurried over to stand beside them, glancing about in the hope of locating the force which had destroyed this scene in its second act. There was nothing out of the ordinary, however. Only sand, the three children, his mother, and his father._

"_Don't touch it, Peter!"_

"_It's just a fish!"_

"_It's NOT a fish!"_

_He reached out a hand to grasp Susan's shoulder, who was closest to him, but thought better of it. If he were to distort the memory…it might bring out the terrible disruption which had occurred before. _

_Edmund was jolted out of his reverie for the second time as there were once again screams of laughter, then Susan and Lucy, hand in hand, raced back up the sand dunes towards their mother. Edmund looked down to see Peter, trousers rolled up into lopsided clumps around his knees, just as he had stood before. Edmund frowned._

_Wait. Something…isn't right._

"_Hey, Ed. I lost my spade. You didn't take it, did you!"_

_Edmund stared down at his brothers small form, hands on hips, glaring up at him. This wasn't right. Peter had had a spade, he knew it, both in the previous memory and at the time it had truly happened. Why did he not have one now? What did it mean? Edmund inhaled sharply, and took a quick step forwards to grab his brother's arm._

"_Listen, we have to leave. Soon, I don't know when, but soon, there'll be an earthquake, and…"_

_Peter wrenched his considerably smaller arm out of Edmund's grip and turned to the nearest rock pool, smiling and laughing slightly, spade apparently forgotten._

"_Silly! Earthquakes don't happen on a beach, they **can't. **You coming?"_

_He reached out a hand to grasp the sharp edge of the nearest crevice, and hauled himself up to place one sandaled foot into a small jagged hole in the side. Edmund felt a sudden, unexplainable stab of fear and stepped forward and once again took Peter by the arm. For some reason, he felt the moment Peter scaled the rock and left his sight, he would be lost._

"_No! Don't. What about the spade? We'll need it, won't we?_

_Peter's round face split into a grin, and he held out his other hand, which was wrapped tightly around the hilt of an enormous sword. Edmund stared. He knew that sword; knew it all too well. He could see it now, drenched in blood glistening in the midday sun as a battle raged around it._

"_See? I don't need a spade anymore." Peter stated proudly, hopping down to once again stand beside Edmund, whose eyes watched the hilt of the sword, which seemed horribly large for such a small hand._

_The sword. A battle. Blood, red. A lion, two lions. Peter._

_The world began to spin. There were voices, far off, calling, shouting, crying. Battle… a large bull, horses…the witch…wand, broken, a blinding light…_

_The beach again began to shake, and Edmund could hear the far off cries of his sisters, and his mother's frantic cries for her sons to come to her. They were louder, desperate, more frantic than before. _

"_Edmund?"_

_There was a loud clang of metal as the sword was dropped, and Edmund felt two small shaking hands wrap around his arm. Peter huddled at his side, his wide eyes staring around with utter terror swirling in their depths. Edmund stared wildly about, trying to see the source of the disturbance, blocking out the screams and cries from up the beach, waiting. Peter's hands on his arm tightened convulsively and Edmund heard a small gasp before one hand raised to point shakily to the upper beach. _

_It was swirling, caving in on itself, forming a deep crevice. The sea came crashing forwards just as it had done before, and Edmund made a wild grab for the small boy beside him, who cried out before he was wrenched below the surface of the raging water. Edmund stared at the point where his brother had disappeared, and felt his heart fill with a now very familiar despair. He swept wildly about in the knee high water, searching desperately for a mop of blond hair or the sight of china blue eyes. He looked up, and felt his eyes sting as he saw the beach was utterly deserted._

"_SUSAN! LUCY!"_

_The darkness pressed in, forming a black void around him, but he could still hear their echoing cries all around him. All of them…his sisters, his brother. His **family…**_

"_Where are you!"_

_Edmund scanned the now calming surface of the water, as his chest seemed to tear itself apart as he fought the urge to cry bitterly. They were gone._

"_**PETER!"**_

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Cifel sighed deeply as he laid the bloodstained chain mail, armour plating and crimson garments down in a niche set low into the stone wall. What could be the witches' possible motive behind this? It was just so…strange. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating. This place was not so cold as the structure around it. It was cool, and Cifel could have sworn it had grown warmer since he had entered it. He and the boy. He turned, and regarded the still form with confusion.

The witch had been very detailed in her instructions. All items, besides the sword and shield, of course, to be laid in the niche. New clothes, of many hues of grey, silver, blue, black and white were to be given, and any additional items found were to be given to the witch. But, most strange of all, was the room, if it was even that, she had instructed him to keep the boy in. Hidden beneath the earth of the main courtyard, concealed by what appeared to be a mourning stone adorned with a cross, a small crypt. It contained a large, plain stone raised structure, three feet from the ground, with a smooth cylindrical addition sitting on the farthest end, and the smallest decoration of a long garland trail of simple flowers carved into the brim. The room itself was rectangular, five feet across and seven feet down, barely large enough to hold the stone.

Cifel carefully reached down, and lifted the boy with little effort. He placed him on the coffin shaped stone, and settled his arms across his torso comfortably, placing a hand beneath the thatch of blond hair and lifting his head onto the cylindrical structure. He then leant against the structure, watching the boys chest rise and fall evenly, feeling troubled. He wasn't sure of the witch's intentions, but he knew he by no means wished to aid her, if he could help it. He smiled kindly down at the boy's face and placed a gentle hand on his forehead, noting how warm it was despite the perishing cold.

"Do not despair, child. Search and await the light to guide your way."

Eying the cold, hard surface of the stone, Cifel reached up to unclasp the silver brooch which held his clock lopsidedly around his shoulders, and placed the smooth, navy coloured woven material over the boy. He stood still for a moment, allowing his body to adapt to the sudden change in temperature and mass, before clasping his hands awkwardly, the thumbs, forefingers and little fingers curled in a slight arch around each other while the remaining four stood in a symmetrical hollow.

He took a long breath, and let it out with a stream of pearly white mist. He calmed his nerves, found his centre of balance and began to enunciate in a hoarse whisper which echoed and resounded within the smallest cracks within the crypt:

'Though doomed you are to slumber hither

Till ages pass, and love doth wither

Heed my words, a kingly grace

Falls most fairly upon your face

Even in sleep you may be found

Which by blood may be unbound

Through a love, by blood unknown

Two kings may sit upon their throne

Pure love's mark laid, and born anew

The bond by which was forged so true

Then sleep no more, but rise forthwith

Look not afore, but justly forgive

Patience, sweet Prince, despair not so

Return love with love, and malice forgo

Only then shall come the well fought fight

A curse, a blessing, a quest for light.'

Cifel opened his eyes, and watched with slight sadness as the frosty tendrils of pearly smoke curled up from the ground and encircled the stone. He turned, and ascended the steps to the slit of light creeping in through the gap left for his exit, between the slab concealing the entrance and the rim of the hole.

It seems he would have his work cut out for him.

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**A/N: I was a little worried about the dreams, and the poem/spell, but I think they came out okay in the end. What did you think? Review and let me know!**


	5. Chapter five

**A/N: Peter POV finally appears…hope you like! I will explain how all the characters visions are different later in the story…maybe. **

**To Astral: My apologies, Cifel was not supposed to have blue hair. It is in fact dark brown. Can't have been thinking straight…I think I confused him with a character from one of my other stories. Sorry! I'll go fix that particular problem now…**

**And to my other reviewers, thank you so much for your continuing support! I'll shut up and let you read now…**

Chapter five

Peter blinked, and was assaulted by a blast of bright light, which shortly faded into lush green and deep blue spattered with red and gold. He threw up his arms to shield his face, and lowered them carefully as his eyes grew used to the tone, then stared around the surrounding landscape.

He had…been here. What seemed like just a moment ago. And yet…it had quite suddenly transformed into an image of aftermath, and not the heat of battle. Corpses of slain Narnian creatures, both of Aslan's army and of the Witch, lay strewn across the field, broken and bleeding. From what Peter could see, the majority of them were, thankfully, from the opposing side.

"What…" he murmured, squinting towards the distant cluster of deep crimson and gold, swaying gently in the breeze. The camp.

How had he come to be here? There had been the witch…Edmund…panic, despair, then…nothing. Darkness. He frowned, and took a step forward, only to stumble and gasp at the strangest feeling as his foot made contact with a large stone.

His foot sunk a little way into the stone before it found solidity. Breathing deeply but rapidly, Peter withdrew his foot and placed it on the grass beside the stone, before pausing in horror.

He was translucent. Semi visible. He could see _through _his foot to the grass below it.

Willing himself not to panic, Peter drew deeper breaths still and calmed his racing heart. There must be a reasonable explanation. He wasn't…he couldn't be…he daren't even think it. Besides, he hoped…knew…if that were so he would be in Heaven. Besides, he could feel a connection, a pulse, something pulling him back towards the two peaked hills between which the witch's castle sat snugly in a deadly nest. No. He wasn't…dead. Yet. He couldn't be. In fact, he was sure of it. As Susan would say, the whole concept of this was illogical. Impossible. Probably just a dream.

Nevertheless…

Peter began to run, attempting to ignore the queer feeling that his feet were falling straight through the earth. He found he could jump great distances from boulder to boulder, and even run through grasping tree branches without being scratched. Yet he still felt the branches whip through him. It was quite an unsettling thought.

He stumbled to an abrupt halt on the very edges of the camp, and realized he was not at all out of breath. He supposed, if he had no body, it was impossible to be tired. He continued on at a slower pace, frowning. The camp seemed to be deserted, or at least very quiet. Only the very slightest movement occurred, and that was usually the wind causing a flag to toss and turn in the breeze. Peter froze as he heard voices within a tent as he passed it, picking his way through the windbreaker lines.

"Why the sudden hush hush?"

A rustle, and a sigh.

"Aslan is grieved. The two sons of Adam, they've been taken."

A sharp intake of breath.

"You don't mean-"

"Don't be an idiot, Bumbleberry! They're human, they can't die. I mean, taken by the witch. To her castle, so I've heard."

A pause. Someone whispered something, and Peter leant closer to the tent to listen better.

"I hears they both got injured in the battle. The traitor, he sees his brother lying all still like, so he rushes in to save 'im. Wouldn't have happened otherwise."

Peter felt a surge of anger, and the tent billowed ominously around him as his fists clenched.

"Don't you be talking 'bout his majesty like that, Thornbill. He's a good lad, that boy. Scrawny, but a good lad."

"Nevertheless, Thimblehorn, I wouldn't trust the lad as far as I could throw him, and that ain't far with all that armour on. He betrayed his own kin, blood kind, to the witch. Now, what kind of a King would do that?"

Peter, having heard enough, continued on through the camp, noting that every tent seemed to be filled, but no living creature dared to venture outside. He fixed his gaze on the largest tent, Aslan's tent. He felt a stab of confusion mixed with grief. 'Aslan is grieved?' What in the world could that mean?

He was spared of his confusion as the flap in the opening of the great tent was pushed open and quite suddenly, two figures emerged. Peter froze, smiled then rushed to meet them. Susan and Lucy, seemingly quite exhausted, stood for a moment outside the entrance. He stopped short when he heard their raised voices.

"Oh, what are to do, Susan?"

Lucy asked, eyes shining with tears, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. She seemed wretchedly tired, her face marred by tear tracks and her dress covered with patches of dirt. Susan straightened the creases in her own dress, seemingly composing herself before she answered.

"We wait for Aslan to come to a decision."

Lucy let out a choked sob and grasped here elder sister's gown in despair, staring with disbelief up at her.

"You don't mean that! We can't just leave them, sit here like good little girls and wait for the men to do something about it! Susan, they're our _brothers!_"

Susan wrenched her arm away and turned to head towards their tent, face set in a blank face of impassiveness. Peter started forwards towards her, but thought better of it. It made more sense not to interfere.

"Peter wouldn't want us to get hurt."

"Peter isn't here! We can't just…just…Susan!"

And they were out of sight, hurrying between the sea of red and gold, Lucy struggling to keep up with Susan's longer strides. Peter watched them go, wondering how any of this came to be. He and Edmund…captured by the white witch? But he himself was right here. Did that mean he was not dead after all? If not, where was his body? Where was Edmund?

What in the world was going on?

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Edmund woke with a strangled cry, and sat bolt upright, breathing hard. That was the second time…he had dreamt that dream. He curled around himself, leaning his forehead against his knees, bunching the silken sheets within clenched fists.

Silken…sheets?

Edmund cried out again as he discovered he was lying in an enormous bed in the centre of an elaborately decorated room. It was all colours of blue, with large hung tapestries on the walls, a carved stone floor, but the only furniture in the room was the bed on which Edmund sat. It was a four poster, carved rosewood structure, with thick, midnight blue coloured drapery and sheets. The main sheet was covered in an assortment of embroidered flowers. Edmund fingered what looked like a snowdrop, then shuffled over to the edge of the bed to get a better look at the room.

Just then, the large iron door flew open with a crash, and a young man of about eighteen years rushed in, crimson eyes wild and burgundy hair in disarray. Edmund stared, and backed once again to the middle of the bed. The boy screeched to a halt, then turned to look at Edmund, and smiled gently. Edmund blinked, and watched with trepidation as the young man approached the bed with careful steps.

"My Prince, it's so good to see you are awake and well! How do you feel?"

Edmund stared at the boy, eyes narrowing as he took in his bizarre appearance. He didn't seem at all threatening…but if there was one thing Edmund had learnt from this land, it was to never trust by appearance. The boy seated himself on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand to Edmund.

"Queen Jadis was so concerned, when we found you in the cold like that she thought…"

The boy broke off, sorrow filling his voice. Edmund's eyes narrowed even further and he hopped off the bed, away from the boy, feet spread wide and arms tensed at the ready. The boy appeared surprised by his reaction, then smiled gently once again.

"Oh, I apologise. We haven't yet been introduced."

He jumped with feline grace from the bed, and bowed slightly to Edmund, before straightening and laying a hand over his heart.

"I am Sennjan, personal attendant to the High Queen Jadis. I am honoured to meet you, your Highness."

He bowed once again, and then stood still, apparently awaiting Edmund's reaction. Edmund lowered his arms slightly, suspicious.

"Where am I?"

The boy, Sennjan, as he was supposedly called, smiled and made a sweeping gesture around the room.

"This is the palace of the Queen. You have not been here before, as I recall."

Edmund frowned, and tensed once again. That was a lie. The queen knew perfectly well he had been here before, by her very direction. He glared.

"Don't be stupid, of course I have. I was held prisoner in this very castle just days ago!"

Sennjan's face became troubled and confused, and he stepped towards Edmund, hands held palm outwards in a gesture of peace.

"But, Prince…we found you just yesterday, perished with cold, in a hallucinogenic state, just beyond the palace boundaries. You have no memory of passing out?"

Edmund backed away once more, his back hitting the far wall away from the door. He hadn't passed out on the way from the beaver's house…had he? Surely all that had passed after that hadn't been merely a dream? And yet…it was all so unreal…the images blurred within his mind's eye, memories sifting together hazily. And boys smile was so kind, so warm…

"The queen is so worried…please, Prince, would you lay down?"

Edmund thought hard, and placed a hand on his stomach where the witch's blade had pierced him. At that thought, he shuddered. He lifted the light cotton shirt and stared down at the smooth, unmarked skin beneath it. There was nothing there. No mark, no scar, no injury. It was like it hadn't even happened. Had it happened?

There was a hand on his arm, and Edmund jumped as the boy led him over to the bed. His face held no deception, and Edmund rubbed his temple in confusion. There was nothing…no injury…then it couldn't have happened. Maybe it was better that way, anyhow…now he came to think of it, it was damn near impossible. Prophesies, and a great battle, all within the space of a few days? No. it couldn't be. He must have been dreaming.

The boy helped Edmund get settled back on the bed, then sat himself once again on the edge, waiting. Edmund watched him uncomfortably, reluctant to do anything with the other boy in the room. Sennjan smiled slightly, and retrieved a small wooden instrument, with two shafts like a tuning fork.

"Prince Edmund," he said, uncertainly "would you like to hear a song? It may help you sleep. I apologise, my skills are nowhere near as high as they really should be, but…"

Edmund scrutinized the boy's face, then nodded very slowly. He was rather tired. Exhausted, even. And he wanted to forget the terrible nightmare…if indeed that was what it had been. It had seemed so real, though…as the boy put the flute to his lips, Edmund suddenly burst out.

"My family! Where are they? Are they safe?"

The boy frowned, and lowered the flute, thinking.

"Your brother, and sisters?"

Edmund nodded, suddenly far more alert. He had left them at the beavers house. What if what had occurred in the dream had really happened? Peter could be dead, Susan and Lucy lost…

"Do not fear. The queen sent out a search party to inform them of your whereabouts. You should sleep, Prince. Don't worry. They are perfectly safe."

Edmund blinked, and lay back, trying to relax. After all, what possible harm could they come to here, in Narnia?

And as the boy began to play, and Edmund began to drift into sleep, he thought no more of his family, the witch, or great battles fought or not. And, far below him, beneath the earth in the courtyard, a small shaft of light filtered through a tiny crack in the masonry, and fell upon the unmoving hand lying, cold and limp, on the intricate patterns carved into the raised structure. And any creature which would deign to look, would see that they were not a simple mismatched trail of wild flowers, but all of one kind.

Forget me nots.

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**A/N: Sennjan is Cifel, by the way. Phew…longest chapter yet. To explain Edmund's sudden acceptance of it all being a dream, he is reluctant to accept the true events because, let's face it, anybody would rather believe something like that didn't happen. Also, the healing magic the witch gave to him (remember, way back at the end of the battle?) is slowly gaining influence over him. Oh yeah, and Cifel is NOT supposed to have blue hair. As for his alternate name Sennjan, when the story is in Edmund's POV, he is known as Sennjan because that is what Edmund calls him. Sorry for the confusion!**

**Now, as promised, the dreams: Edmund dreams of the past, which is contorted by events of the present. What happens to each of the characters, and what may happen, is reflected in Ed's dreams. For instance, the spade was symbolic of Peter's childhood, and the swap to a sword represents him growing up. Does that make sense? As for Peter's 'dreams', it's hard to explain without spoiling the story…I'll let you know later!**

**Please review!**


	6. Chapter six

**A/N: Wow (dazed) lots of reviews! Thank you so much! I will try and keep the pace up, but I am posting a bit fast even for me. Chapter seven is in the works, though! Many people have asked if this is Peter and Edmund centric, and the answer is yes, though it is NOT slash. Also, as I have mentioned before, there will be NO Mary sues. I can't stand them, either. **

**To Argentus: Yes, I know, but I am an old fashioned writer…I had an English teacher when I was young who hated using abbreviated forms of 'it is' and 'I am', so sorry…I'll (see? Starting already!) try and fix the problem!**

Chapter six

Aslan felt a sudden deep jolt within the earth, though it was no physical element. There had been a sudden imbalance in the deep magic. He had feared this would happen. He had hoped that the children of Adam and Eve would be able to complete their destinies without the use of such powers that had been forgotten, but apparently fate had other plans. The very loss of the second half of the prophesy seemed a sign, a jibe towards him; you are at our mercy.

The great lion stared at the doorway where the two daughters of Eve had recently left through, and sighed deeply. It was not over yet…and the way things were going, it was going to continue for a great many ages to come. Aslan felt the weight of humanities' sadness once again clench around his heart. He was so tired, wearied by sorrow. But it would all be worth it in the end. Surely, they would triumph eventually. That was the way of the world.

And Aslan was truly thankful he had been gifted with this task, this chance, to watch over the poor children of this earth. He would not have it any other way.

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_Crying._

_Crying on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, children's crying._

_The two small girls cling to each other far off on the upper beach, staring around in fear at the gathering darkness. A deckchair, drenched in blood, lay in a broken heap beside them, and their hair was disheveled and wet. The sky was quickly darkening, filling with huge, roaring aircraft. Edmund stared around the beach, searching frantically, but there was no sign of his mother, his father, or the little sandy haired boy that was his brother._

_Edmund finally spotted a small figure, standing rigid just where the tide reached it's highest point, sandals wet from the oncoming waves. Edmund broke into a run towards him, feeling a sudden desperation._

"_Peter!" he called, and the boy turned, and Edmund ran faster. As he come closer, he saw the glint of the sun glance off two sharded broken ends of a sword, lying forgotten beside his brother. Looking at the boy himself, Edmund suddenly noticed the large stream of crimson liquid running in rivulets down the left side of the boy's face. He felt his stomach jolt with nausea, and ran faster still as the boy turned once again to stare at the stormy sky._

_Edmund stumbled to a halt beside his brother and grasped his thin shoulders with a firm grip, spinning the boy around to look at him. Peter didn't respond, his face hidden by his blood drenched hair. Panicking, Edmund reached a hand up to brush the offending strands away from his forehead, and nearly let go of the boy in shock._

_The round face was covered in dried blood, which was blurred in patches where tears had marred their trail. His china blue eyes were blank and empty, and they rose sluggishly to look at him, tears still overflowing and streaming down his cheeks. Horrified, Edmund tore his eyes away from the boy, who was shuddering with repressed sobs, to stare at the younger forms of his sisters, who were now screaming as gale force winds began to whip at them, and clutched their towels closer to them for warmth._

"_You…forgot…"_

_Edmund looked back down to Peter, whose strangely blank eyes were now filled with despair, and the boy opened a small, pale palm to reveal a crumpled, sky blue flower. It was shriveled, and had obviously died quite some time ago. Small, faded yellow streaks lined the centre, and Edmund's hand shook as he reached out and took the delicate flower and held it carefully between thumb and forefinger._

_A dead Forget me not._

_Little Peter threw his head back and let out a horrific wail, then began to scream, joined by his sisters who seemed to cry out in fear rather than grief and despair. The broken sword began to glow red hot and melt, melding with the sand beneath it._

_The sword. A battle. Blood, red. A lion, two lions. Peter._

_The world began to spin. There were voices, far off, calling, shouting, crying. Battle… a large bull, horses…the witch…wand, broken, a blinding light…a painful pressure on his hand as two much smaller ones clutched it desperately. Edmund glanced down, his own eyes filling with tears as the world began to spin, to see the round face of his brother contorted with fear. The little boy was out of breath, his thin chest heaving with effort._

"_Don't…don't forget…please…"_

_The corpse of the flower was crushed in his own hand as the two smaller ones pressed it in further, enfolding it within his very skin. Peter raised his head weakly to look at him, and Edmund saw a shaky smile begin to dispel the fear, the tears and the blood._

"_Don't forget…me…"_

_Then the hands were ripped from his own, the boy once again wrenched unwillingly into the darkness. His body fell like a limp doll, engulfed quickly by the inky blackness of the sea. Edmund threw himself down to the ground, his knees grazing from the coarse sand, but he didn't care. He beat his fists against the ground and let the salty tears run freely down his face, mixing with the stinging spray of the sea._

"_No…Peter…"_

_He stared hopelessly about him, as the waves calmed as they had always done so, and turned once again a serene sky blue. Edmund let out a choked sob as he rose shakily to his feet, knees stinging and bleeding freely. He took a deep breath and screamed to the deceptively calm sky; _

"**_WHERE ARE YOU!"_**

_But there was no answer. Edmund fell to the ground and wept bitterly._

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Peter's eyes snapped open, and reeled in shock as he realized the bright colours of the Narnian fields had gone, quite literally with the blink of an eye. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw an expanse of inky black surrounding him, suffocating. He turned wildly about, and saw behind him glint of silver, lying at his feet. He stooped down and peered at it, eyes widening in confusion. It was a small, ornately decorated mirror, about the size of a large dinner plate, and was shaped as a smoothly rounded oval. The edges were adorned with small metal leaves, vines and flowers, the stems of which were thinner than needle thread. He studied them, but couldn't quite identify which particular type of flower they were.

Just as he got close enough for his now considerably longer locks of sandy hair to brush the cool surface of the mirror, it seemed to shimmer, pulsate, and then ripple as though it were made of water. Peter's head shot backwards, and he overbalanced and fell to the ground with a strangled cry, eyes not leaving the mirror. It now began to contort to show images which were certainly not the swirling, stormy sky above. The glass turned three dimensional, and Peter clenched his fists to stop himself from reaching out to touch the images.

A train, jolting down a gravel paved track, streaming white smoke billowing high above lush green treetops.

A glistening, twinkling mass of small blinking lights, gathered together in swarms far below a distant mass of screaming war planes, bombs falling with a soft whistle towards the impending doom which awaited them.

A blood red sun rising over a pure, crystal sea marred by large globules of thick black, oozing stealthily across it's unsuspecting skin.

The encampment he had just left, red and gold banners flying high in the wind, small tents dotted here and there in patches of stark contrast to the deep green grass below.

The encampment faded, replaced by the sudden appearance of two china blue eyes, narrowed, outlined by a pale face and a mop of sandy coloured hair. Peter drew back, disappointed, realizing it was no strange apparition, but rather the ordinary reflection of himself. He sighed, and was halfway through rising to his feet, when he froze.

The face in the mirror was changing. The blue eyes widened with fear, the face paled to sickly white pallor, the mouth opened wide, emitting a silent scream. As if ripped by a sudden force, gashes marred the skin everywhere, blood welling and oozing down the face in rivulets. Peter felt nausea settle in his stomach, bile rise in his throat, and on impulse his foot shot from beneath to kick the offending object and send it flying over the muddy ground. It seemed to take an age to fall, before it finally collided violently with the slushy ground and shattered in a shower of tiny fragments.

Breathing hard with the blood pounding in his ears, Peter tried to calm his racing heart and slumped to the ground, watching without real interest as the remnants of the mirror sunk into the ground as though sucked down by some unseen force. He was shaking, and felt a sudden exhaustion he knew could not be physical. After all, he was still translucent, and he sunk into the ground farther than any normal solid substance could.

He closed his eyes and leant his forehead against his knees, rocking back and forth as he had done often as a child. He felt weak, and helpless. He wanted so desperately just to be home, or just with his family. Lucy, with her sweet smile, Susan, however infuriating she may be. And Edmund…he wanted more than anything else in the world for his brother to be safe, not lying limp and shattered in a field in a pool of his own blood.

Peter slammed a grazed and shaking fist into the ground, and felt the despair grow when it found no solidity, only sunk deeper. He let out a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, and sat up rigid, drawing deep breaths. It would not help anyone, least of all himself, if he lost his resolve now. He had not lost, yet. He was not a failure until his family lay buried beneath the earth, and he felt, somehow, he would feel an empty void in his heart if any of them were to…well…there was no use thinking like that now.

Peter gathered his courage and let a long, slow breath out, feeling considerably calmer, and got to his feet. He had to find a way out of this void, or cycle, or whatever it was, to get back to Narnia. To his family. Lucy, Susan, Edmund. He had to think of them now, and how to get back to them, and nothing else. Not the fear, not the despair, not the implausibility of the situation. He had to concentrate.

Peter looked around, more carefully this time, and could make out vaguely the features of the land around him. It seemed relatively flat, although quite unstable, and he wrinkled his nose as his feet sunk even further into the soft mud below him. The sky was almost completely black, and riddled with huge formations of different coloured murky smokes, yellow and brown and grey. The smell would have been awful, he supposed, if he had a nose. He supposed he should be thankful for that.

"Well…might as well pick a direction…" he muttered to himself, and set off at a brisk walk towards the nearest looming, indistinct shape. It was a long, slightly raised mound, and seemed to be made up of misshaped bricks. Peter frowned, and noted that there was no movement as far as he could see…which wasn't far, but still. He slowed his pace and squinted, trying to see the moving figures behind the structure more clearly. But he felt no fear. After all, he reasoned, if he didn't technically exist, he could hardly be harmed, could he?

He let out a yelp as he skidded the last few metres over a puddle of oil and crimson fluid, and froze as he realized he was now waist high in a mass of sharp, thicketed barbed wire. He reached a trembling hand down to touch the tip of a spike, and sighed in relief as he confirmed that he was, as he had predicted (or rather hoped) unharmed. Cautiously, he waded through the tangle of wire, and let out a deep breath as he broke free from the thicket. Harmful or not, it was disturbing to be speared by hundreds of needle sharp spikes which could impale you any second.

He could hear voices as he drew closer; hushed, hoarse voices which grated and scratched like a broken record. Peter winced as he reached the wall of sodden sandbags which marked the beginning of a deep dip in the ground, and stared.

This must be the trenches he had heard about. What on earth was he doing here? Was he back home, in his own world? How did he get here? Why? He was too tired to question himself any further; he had no answers, and there was nobody here to ask. Or rather, nobody who would know. Would they be able to see him? Surely not. If his own sisters had not seen him, strangers most certainly could not. But could it be different here in this world? Was it even his own world, or was it some parallel thing, like in the stories he had read?

"Hey, look! You there! HALT!"

Peter jumped back in shock and fell to the ground once again, and for the first time noticed he was no longer wearing his Narnian clothing. He wore the light blue knitted jumper, coarse brown shorts and polished school shoes he had been wearing when they were first on the train, running away from London. He could not feel the cold. Did that mean he was, as he had thought, back home? On earth? Hope rekindling in his chest, Peter scrambled up and watched with slight exhilaration as a helmeted head, holding a gun tightly in gloved hands, appeared over the lip of the trench.

He let out a gasp as he gazed into china blue eyes identical to his own.

He knew that face. Despite its gaunt features, hollow cheeks, and sickly pallor, he knew that once kindly face well. Beneath his blue eyes were dark smudges, and the once pleasantly dimpled cheeks were sallow, marred by scabbed gashes and completely covered in dirt and grime, but nevertheless, Peter knew that face. He felt a small smile spread across his own face, the action strangely foreign to him.

"Dad?"

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**A/N: Well, isn't this a new development? Precisely where is Peter, and why? Well, actually, I can't remember…(goes off to read notes) Oh, apologies for the confusion caused by Cifel (or Sennjan) in future I'll make sure he is only referred to as Cifel in the text, and Sennjan in speech. Sorry for the stupid mistake!**

**Cifel: (mutters)**

**Review if you are feeling charitable!**


	7. Chapter seven

**A/N: Once again, I thank you all for the continued support! I never expected my first fic to be so successful (glows with pride) wow! In this chapter there are two POV's: The first is the Aslanders (Susan, Lucy, Aslan etc) and then we're back to Cifel and Edmund. **

**Oh yeah…an awful lot of people are getting very confused. This may spoil the story a bit if I explain, but people seem to want to know, so I'll tell you; Peter is not technically 'dreaming'. He's not even really asleep. Any more and that would be too much! I'll explain it during the story, soon. Very soon. For now, I have put together a summary which may help the confusion somewhat:**

**Edmund: is forgetting everything, due to the witch's magic. His dreams ARE dreams, but reflect the events taking place in reality.**

**Peter: Is wandering around both time and space. I'll explain how later, but sufficed to say his story is going to get VERY interesting.**

**Susan and Lucy: Are just stiffening their resolve and trying not to panic, really.**

**The witch and Cifel: are plotting and generally confusing everyone. Cifel, quite obviously, is not all he seems, but don't worry. He'll be gone soon (evil grin).**

**Cifel: 00 (worried)**

**Henry Pevensie: Is about to get a big shock, but otherwise is just sitting in the mud, really.**

**Helen Pevensie: We'll hear from her later. **

**Don't worry, it isn't going to get any more complicated. The whole dream thing is about as far as it goes…anything else will be explained by various characters quite clearly, but for now I'm just leaving hints throughout the text. If anyone thinks they've worked something out, let me know! I want to know if I can outsmart you all…(evil grin)**

**Come on, it wouldn't be fun if I told you everything! **

Chapter seven

Lucy tugged on her sister's hand, silently pleading for her to hurry. It was a lovely day, she thought, for once reaping no joy from the fact. The sky was blue, and the frost had almost completely gone, but even though the sun was shining, there was no sunshine. Sunshine was only joyful when you yourself were happy, and Lucy was far from her normal self. She had not slept at all the previous night. Even as she had cuddled up close to her sister's side, and thought of home, and of their mother smiling as she bundled her youngest daughter up for the winter cold, she felt no warmth. Only cold.

Cold and empty.

She shivered despite the warm summer breeze, and let go of her sisters hand to flat out run to Aslan's tent, ignoring the irritable voice of her sister calling for her to wait. She could not wait. She was tired of always having to just sit, and smile, and look happy, and pretend everything was all right.

'Some little kids don't know when to stop pretending.'

Lucy froze just beside the tent flap, as her brother's voice came back to her as if brought as an incentive. But it wasn't just children who pretended. Their mother, for years now, had been pretending. Living a dream. Pretending that father would one day come home, that the bombs would eventually stop falling, that things would go back to the way they had been. They would never change. Lucy could never go back, to home. She could go back to her house, to her mother, but she would never be home again. Their mother would still cry silently over their father's picture when the children were in bed. Edmund would still run down the stairs every morning to stare out of the window, watching down the garden path for the sound of army clad boots.

Lucy knew when to stop pretending. She may not be as old as her mother. She may not be as tall, or as pretty, or as clever as Susan. She may never be. But she knew when to stop pretending. She knew it was time to stop lying, to stop fooling around pretending things were all right. Her father had gone. Her mother had gone. And now, both her brothers had gone, too.

She thought of Mr Tumnus, who accepted her so kindly into a world she knew nothing of. She thought of Peter, always giving in to her, trying so desperately hard to make her life whole again. She thought of Susan, who had shielded her for so many years from the terrible ways of the world; patched her clothes when her mother was too tired to even get up from the old arm chair. Sewn Harry, her teddy bear's ear back on. Brushed her hair, then tied a ribbon into it with a small smile and an exclamation of how sweet she looked.

Lucy didn't want to be a child anymore. She didn't want to keep pretending. She straightened her back, reached up, and tugged the small brightly coloured ribbon out of her hair; she watched as it fell slowly to the ground in a swirling, languid motion then was lifted by the currents of the wind, tossing and turning, streaming away.

It was time.

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Cifel folded his hands neatly in his lap, and leant back against the wall farthest from the large poster bed, thinking. The boy was at peace now; for that at least, he was grateful. But what of the other? Who knew where he had gone, what he had seen? Why did he even care? He should not be so concerned for the humans. Emotion led to attachment. Attachment led to mistakes. And mistakes led to pain, and cost lives. He could not afford to allow his guard to slip, even for a moment.

He raised his gaze upward to glare ferociously at the ceiling, then lowered it hastily as the patch he was looking at began to melt. He let out a long breath with a sigh, his brown hair tossing in the gust, and cocked his head to the side, admiring the new stalactite the room had gained. It was certainly an improvement on the exceedingly boring flat surface that was the original. It could even serve as a coat hook, if it was bent round enough…

The boy turned slightly in his sleep, let out a soft sigh, then fell back into slumber. Cifel rolled his eyes. This was going to be difficult. Very difficult. Well, he supposed, to any other being it might just be impossible. But not to him. He needed to maintain the perfect balance…shield the boy's aura somehow, but subtly, from the witch. But he must be careful. Very, very careful. If she were to ever discover he had the ability to disobey…

"…Peter?"

The boy muttered in his sleep, brow furrowing, and tossed, turning onto his front to bury his head in the pillow. Cifel sighed, and straightened up wearily, then stooped down to retrieve the large, leather bound book from the floor where it had fallen from the previous night. He dusted off the pages, and smiled fondly down at it, running a finger absently along the patterned spine as he did so. It had broken his heart to reconfigure the patterned border, but it needed to be done. Humans may be resilient creatures, but they could be surprisingly dull witted when it came down to deciphering things.

He admired his handiwork, fingering the painted sky blue flowers which wrapped themselves around the edges of the book, and up throughout the heavy pages. It would have to do. If he had played the charm correctly, and with the right pitch, the most prominent factors of the boy's dream should remain intact in his residual long term memory, and hopefully the symbol would penetrate his daily consciousness. If not, however, the reminder was everywhere to stimulate a response. It was incredible the witch hadn't noticed yet, really.

A sudden aroma of musty fur and distant lands assaulted his senses, and Cifel suddenly lashed out and threw the book away with revulsion. In all its beauty, he had almost forgotten its origin. Pathetic. And he had accused the witch of growing weaker, when he himself had somehow succumbed to stupid, **pathetic **human emotions. He had purged himself of such trivial matters many ages ago. He could not afford to lose face now, when he was so close to bringing an end to it all. To everything.

He walked swiftly away from the fallen book, and stood beside the bed, reaching out and placing a now freezing hand on the boy's warm forehead. He closed his own eyes, and probed gently for the boy's emotional centre.

Whispered voices…a child. Blue. Sudden turbulence…the boy was no longer at peace. He had entered the realm of illusion. Where reality slips away and the human soul remained helplessly at the mercy of the fears the conscious mind repressed.

Cifel shuddered and drew sharply back. At least Edmund had not met the same fate as his brother. Cifel felt a shiver rise up from the base of his spine, and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. Wherever that boy was, Cifel could do nothing to aid him now. He would have to find the way home by himself. But he was strong. Cifel had felt it when he had first read the boy. A strength born from deep within his heart. Cifel was placing his every hope on that strength, and that it would, eventually, triumph.

Cifel allowed a twisted smile to curl his lips, and he slid to the floor, leaning back against the rosewood bedpost. It would soon, he could feel it. He could smell the dark, intoxicating aura which dictated so.

Yes. It would not be long now. Not long at all.

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_Whispers._

_Whispering on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, a single child whispering softly._

_There was no laughter, nor crying. Barely heard over the sighing of the waves as they rose up over the shoal then whipped down away, as though afraid, a small, whispering voice. Edmund craned his neck and scanned the horizon and the edges of the beach, the upper bank where his mother usually sat. The deckchair stood empty, towels draped neatly over the wooden sides, creaking slightly in the afternoon breeze. Edmund looked down._

_A bright red bucket lay at his feet, filled to the brim with slushy brown sand, the edge of a small slip of material just visible on the surface. Edmund frowned, and bent down to his knees, placed thumb and forefinger around the frayed edge of what he could now see was an emerald green colour. He tugged._

_A long, still entirely whole ribbon emerged slowly through the thick slush, and Edmund wrinkled his nose at the smell. He studied it carefully, something tickling at the back of his mind. This…ribbon…belonged to someone he knew. Someone…important. He studied the end which had just broken free from the bucket, and found a rather simple jagged embroidery on the underside._

_L-U-C-Y--P_

_Lucy P. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…why did that name seem so familiar somehow? Oh! Of course, his sister Lucy. How could he have forgotten? Was he going mad? Edmund shook his head violently, as though trying to shake off the misty cloud which had wrapped itself tightly around his memory. What was his sister's ribbon doing here?_

_Next to the bucket, two spades were laid neatly side by side on the sand. One, which was a bright cheerful yellow, appeared perfectly normal. The second, a larger, dark red one, was split and splintered in the very middle of the shaft, breaking it clean in two. Edmund placed the bucket and shoved the ribbon into his pocket, reaching out to finger the sharp ends of the shaft._

"_It broke."_

_The quiet voice shocked Edmund, whose head snapped up so fast he felt a little dizzy. His heart leapt as he saw the young Peter, standing right beside him, staring also at the broken spade. The boy stood uncharacteristically still, hands clasped in front of him neatly, his face devoid of emotion._

"_I broke it. And now I can't fix it. Tell me. Tell me how to fix it."_

_Edmund stared at him, and reached out a slightly shaking hand to take the little child's shoulder._

"_Peter?"_

_The boy shook his head._

"_No. Call me Simon."_

_Edmund frowned, and leant a little closer._

"_But…you are Peter, aren't you?"_

_The boy said nothing, but turned away and began to scramble up the bank of sand, towards the empty deckchair. Edmund hurried after him, calling for him to slow down, feeling confused. This was not right. Not right at all._

_He climbed over the rim of the bank and saw the little boy sitting cross legged on a towel, with scattered tiny figures lying immobile all around. In his hand he held one, and in the other he gripped fiddled with the untied laces on his shoes. Edmund hurried over and sat down carefully beside him on the sand. Peter…or Simon, as he liked to be called…did not look at him, but stared at the small metal figure of a tin soldier in his hand. The other figures were tanks, guns, soldiers, military weapons and so on. Simon wrinkled his nose as he studied the figure, then quite suddenly looked Edmund in the eye and recited:_

"_Little girls and little boys,_

_Never suck your German toys;_

_German soldiers licked will make_

_Darling Baby's tummy ache._

_Parents, you should always try_

_Only British toys to buy;_

_Though to pieces they be picked,_

_British soldiers can be licked."_

_Then hunched over himself and began to giggle uncontrollably. Edmund stared, and reached out a hand to rest on the boy's trembling shoulder. Simon's head shot up, and he smiled slightly, reaching out his own hand to wave it back and forth in front of Edmund's face, the head of a sky blue flower tossing drunkenly on the end of a thin stalk at the action. _

_Edmund took it, then tucked it safely into the chest pocket of his shirt, muttering a thanks. The sky had begun to darken. Simon, confused, looked upwards also, and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet, and before Edmund could move to follow him, he pointed firmly to his chest forget._

"_Don't forget to remember...you won't, will you?"_

_Edmund stared unblinkingly into those eyes he knew so well._

"_Are you asking me to remember...or stating that you know that I won't?"_

_The boy shrugged, glancing nervously around the beach, his clothes and hair now being buffeted to and fro in the wind._

"_Only you can answer that question, Edmund."_

_Before he gave Edmund a sudden hard shove backwards, and smiled shakily as Edmund was wrenched away from the beach into darkness, shards of frosted glass and ice swirling around him, speaking the name that even as it left his lips, the meaning slipped away._

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Edmund awoke, for the second time in a day, in a cold sweat, screaming a name he couldn't quite recall the significance of. He clenched his fists and rubbed furiously at his eyes, struggling desperately to grasp the remnants of the vision he had just left. But it slipped through his fingers like sand through an hourglass even as he reached for it. He let out a frustrated groan, and slammed his fist into the bedposts, ignoring the ominous crunch and the shooting pain rising up his arm.

He was left with a feeling of utter emptiness, and slumped back onto the pillows, staring up at the deep blue ceiling of the bed in despair. It was no use. No matter how he tried, he could never recall anything other than that wretched sky blue flower. He didn't even know what it was called. But there was something else this time…something that slid wearily into place in his mind's eye, and he grimaced slightly as he traced two oval shapes with his forefinger in mid- air.

A small pair of china blue eyes shedding a never ending flow of tears down a face Edmund could not recall, and a far off voice calling over and over again, accusing.

"You forgot, you forgot, you forgot"

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**A/N: That's right, folks. Edmund is slowly beginning to forget his family, under the influence of the supposed 'medicine' the witch gave him. To avoid future confusion, I will explain that whenever Edmund dreams of the beach, he is in full control of his memories and can remember quite well his family, and what really happened in Narnia. **

**He does not, however, remember anything short term (any interaction with Cifel). In reality, when he wakes up, he can barely remember the dreams or the true events, and only remembers what has happened since he was captured (although he doesn't know it) by the witch. Okie dokie?**

**Next up, Peter gets a shock, Edmund falls deeper under the witch's spell, Cifel plots and generally confuses everybody including the author…**

**Cifel: (grins evilly)**

…**the witch comes up with something which vaguely resembles a plan, and I show how completely appalling my grasp of the German language is. I called Simon that because of the Bible reference, the first disciple Simon, who was renamed Peter. Remember that, it's significant later on. The rhyme he sings is actually a real wartime poem which was written to discourage children from buying German toys.**

**Review if you are feeling charitable!**


	8. Chapter eight

**A/N: Righto…phew, this is hard work…okay. I hope my notes in the previous chapters helped clear up any speculation. If not, well, I'll have to try again. This chapter is mostly about Peter's journey. I had to combine two parts into one because I think many people are anxious to get back to the real world, including Peter himself. I realize most people want this story to get more…well…normal, so the abstract symbolism will be over soon, I promise.**

**Warning: CHARACTER DEATH and vivid description of injury in this chapter. You have been forewarned...**

Chapter eight

Peter stared, his heart thundering in his ears, making him feel slightly lethargic and nauseous. What the _hell _was he doing here, out in the trenches, in the middle of the war their mother had tried so desperately to shield them from? He felt detached, unreal, and yet his body was feeling more solid than it had in all his time on this…journey…or whatever it may be. His hands felt the dirt beneath his feet, he could smell the intoxicating fumes of the gas and the choking thickness of the air, and coughed slightly.

"…Peter…?"

Peter blinked wearily, and nodded slightly as he rose to his feet. Nearby, he could hear the other soldiers in the trench beginning to mutter.

"Poor blighter…gone off his nut, like the others. Shellings finally got to him."

"I heard him say that name afore, Peter, in his sleep. Along with others. Must be his family, you reckon?"

"Yeah. If he freaks, let him go. We don't have no time for no crazy nuts."

Henry Pevensie quite suddenly leapt upwards as though he had been given an electric shock, and vaulted the sandbag mound with slight difficulty. His comrades hissed for him to come to his senses, but he began to advance towards Peter, limbs emitting tremors of fatigue. Peter felt a wave of terror pulsate through him like poison. He could hear the slightly faded harsh voices of the enemy in the opposing trench just a few feet away.

"Etwas hat bewogen – hast du gehort?"

"Ja...sehen!"

Peter flinched from the sound of the foreign tongue, and felt his fear increase tenfold. He stumbled forwards, reaching out a hand to his father.

"No, don't! Go back!"

He froze, recalling a time which seemed so long ago now when he had uttered the exact same words.

'_Go back! Go back, get the girls and get out of here!'_

Edmund hadn't listened to him, either. And now, God knew what had happened to him. He could be dead, he could still be lying there on the field, cold and lost and forgotten, and here Peter was wasting his time gallivanting around in a world which probably wasn't even real!

Or was it? His father seemed so real, so close...so alive...

"No, Dad! Please...don't!"

"Fertig? Los!"

Peter felt, in that moment, that the last shreds of his tattered and torn childhood left him. He was suddenly deaf. It was not like the heroic, neatly planned deaths he had seen in books or even at the pictures. His father did not have the firm, resigned resolve in his eyes that actors had when they donned their roles. He was terrified. His body jerked and twisted in a sickening mimic of a dance, before contorting and becoming rigid as the second wave of bullets tore through him, embedded themselves in his flesh.

Peter could hardly feel the wet shower of blood which splattered over his face, covering his vision with clots of crimson. He didn't even blink the foreign liquid away as it mixed with salty tears and wound its way down his left cheek. Blood. Edmund. Father. Dead.

He was numb. The contours of every bone in his body shook with terror, his own blood seeming to freeze in his veins, his heart halt in its beating to mourn. He didn't really feel himself fall to his knees, or scramble over to grasp the coarse material of the soldier who could not have been his father.

He couldn't be.

He wasn't dead.

He couldn't be.

There was silence now, as though the entire world around him was holding its breath. Harsh breathing and the pulsating trickle of his father's life fluid pouring over his hands, slick and slimy and unbearably hot. He could feel every beat of the man's weakening heart, hear every torn gasp for air which made his body convulse and jolt awkwardly.

It was not a noble, nor an honourable death. There was no shared last goodbye, no token of farewell, no trinket given to return to their family. There were no utters of 'I love you' or last requests which could kindle hope. Nothing. His father only stared up at him, eyes filled with fear, afraid of death, too weak to convey his last emotions to his son. His bloodless lips twitched upwards in the shadow of a smile, which coupled with his sickly pallor seemed more sinister than comforting.

"Daddy?"

There was a last shudder, and the body beneath him went impossibly still. Peter heard disembodied voices howling in the silence.

"By God…"

One soldier made the sign of the cross over his chest, staring with disbelief at the apparition bowed beside the fallen soldier. He was a young man, only seventeen. He had lied about his age, joined the army to fight for his country. He had never seen death before the war.

An elderly soldier, world wearied by the sorrow, placed a wrinkled hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Now, lad. Do you see what we are fighting for?"

And as the young man watched the golden haired boy, who to his eyes, appeared to be a guardian angel weep silently over the man's body, he nodded.

"Yes. Yes, I know now what we're fighting for."

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Aslan stared evenly at the wolf, a messenger from the Queen, and the creature lowered its gaze and raised its hackles, snarling. It hastily dropped a large scroll of parchment bound by an ice blue ribbon, then darted out of the tent and towards the edge of the encampment. Borius, the centaur general, reached down and retrieved the fallen document, then unrolled it and bowed slightly to Aslan, tearing off the ribbon, unfolding it and laying it flat on the low wooden table in the middle of the main tent.

Aslan frowned as he read:

_The High Queen of Narnia, Empress of the Lone Islands and most worthy monarch of the Land addresses Aslan, Lion of lands unknown._

_I am not an ungracious host, Aslan. Though it seems you defy death, it has not aided you in your quest to place Humans on the throne of Narnia. I am in possession of something very precious to you._

_You have violated our bond. I have not received that which is my right to own. I have not had a sacrifice, none which remained valid since you re-entered this world, I have not received the blood owed to me. _

_I have every right to slit both of the Son's of Adam's throats, and make no mistake, I will not hesitate to do so. However, as I also am a merciful Queen, I shall extend the hand of peace and offer you a truce, on these conditions:_

_The sons of Adam will not be harmed, unless the following agreement is violated. If that is so, I will immediately cut their throats myself, without hesitation nor negotiation._

_The Land of Narnia shall be split into the North and the South. The upper land shall be owned by me, with the border joined by the landmarks of the Lampost of the Wild woods of the West, the Dam belonging to the Beavers, the tributary where the Great River splits, and the summit of the Ettinsmoor Mount._

_Therefore, I shall own: Lantern Waste, the Great River, Owlwood, Northern Marshes and the River Shribble to the East._

_The rest belongs to the Daughters of Eve and all Narnian creatures loyal to them. If any such creature were to venture over the border, the truce is violated and my army shall attack, while the Sons of Adam will be executed._

_If you agree to these terms, the Daughters of Eve must place a drop of blood each upon the seal below to bind their will. _

_QUEEN JADIS_

Aslan turned to Borius, who nodded and left the tent in one swift leap. This did not bode well, not at all. This whole business should have been over and done by now, the witch dead and gone and the four thrones in Cair Paravel filled. He wished he could offer some form of guidance to the daughters of Eve, but what more could he do? He could not dictate their answer.

Presently, Susan and Lucy entered, looking tired and flustered. Lucy especially appeared utterly exhausted, her clothes rumpled and dark smudges beneath her usually shining eyes. The aftermath of the battle was taking its toll.

Aslan jerked his head at the parchment, and Susan bent down and held it in both hands, while Lucy leant on her sister and read over her shoulder.

Their eyes widened in distress, and both looked to Aslan with pleading eyes. The great lion lowered his head in sadness, then shook it slowly from side to side.

"Do not look to me for counsel. It is not my choice to make."

Lucy stood up abruptly, eyes filling with tears.

"Oh, but Aslan-!"

Aslan stiffened and his voice grew less gentle, but not angry.

"Daughters of Eve. This is your country, your time, not mine. You must decide. Which do you value most? Your Kingdom, of Narnia, or your blood kin?"

The sisters looked to each other, then back to the parchment now gripped tightly between Susan's trembling hands. They shared one last glance, then nodded resolutely, and Lucy reached to her belt and drew her dagger from it's sheath, placing it in her palm, the blade already digging into the soft flesh.

Aslan closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

"So be it."

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Peter didn't really register the fact that the hard packed battlefield had faded, and that he now stood in a semi dark, ordinary kitchen. He didn't know how much more he could take. His body was shuddering with emotion and grief, and his heart had slowed, as though it, too, wished to just give up and allow him to curl into a ball and die. A single thought wrenched itself up from the impenetrable blackness to make his head rise.

Edmund. Remember Edmund, and Susan, and Lucy. They need you. You cannot just give up.

But Peter wanted so desperately wanted to. He didn't care any longer if this was real or not, he just…couldn't keep fighting forever. With each breath he drew, he felt he was losing a piece of himself. He was being pulled this way and that, and there was no salvation either way. It would never end. Even if he returned to Narnia, there would still be a battle to be fought. And he would have to be the one to lead. No matter where he went in this world, there would always be evil to conquer, people to protect.

But maybe that was what growing up meant. To accept responsibility. To accept the right to make your own choices, and make them wisely, selflessly. His father was dead. There was no kindly leader to look up to for his family, any more. Peter could not go to anyone to cry on their shoulder when he fell and grazed his knee. There was no one he could go to, to solve his problems, to ruffle his hair and tell him he was being silly when the monster under his bed crept out to eat him at night. His mother could not take any more sorrow any better than he could. He had to be strong. He could be strong.

Peter clenched his hands together and brought them to his forehead, taking deep breaths, allowing all the hurt to slip away with each exhalation. He could do this. He wasn't a child anymore. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, stiffening his muscles to quell their trembling and bringing the soft material to his face. The blood had turned cold now, was drying and becoming crusted like scabs on his face. He closed one eye and wiped it off. Some crumbled, some he had to scrub vigorously to remove.

He dropped the material once he was sure his face and hands were clean, firmly refusing to acknowledge that it had turned a deep crimson. If this was a dream…then he must be asleep. And as he was not dead, yet, he must be safe. There was nothing to be afraid of.

After all, dreamers are only believers in their sleep. He had told that to Lucy many times when she had woken in tears from a nightmare and wished she was unable to dream. He had to heed his own words. And find a way to wake up from his own nightmare. He reached behind himself and grabbed hold of a cold metal handle of the cabinet he was leaning against. All the tears had been wiped clean along with the blood. He would shed no more children's tears tonight, or ever again.

He smiled stiffly, wiped all expression from his face, and strode swiftly from the room into the dark, hauntingly familiar hallway beyond.

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Cifel doubled over in pain as the emotions being emitted from the eldest son of Adam suddenly increased tenfold and bombarded him with turmoil. There was utter chaos for a few seconds, before some foreign force suddenly slammed up, cutting off the connection violently, and Cifel cried out as all readings he had been receiving were cut off. The youngest son of Adam frowned, sighed, and turned over onto his back in his sleep.

Cifel put a hand to his aching head, trying to calm the pounding in his skull and drawing his aura back to its normal state. He stared at his shaking hands, then turned to look out of the frosted window down to the courtyard below.

What the bloody hell was that!

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**A/N: Phew, that was difficult…I hope I got all of the dynamics of Narnia right…I checked a map on the internet. If you want a clearer picture of the witch's demands, go to Google and images then type in 'Narnia map' and have a look! There's now only one more chapter to go before Peter and Edmund are back in Narnia for good (as far as you know). The weird dreams will stop then, I promise! The story gets simpler after that…thanks for hanging in there!**

**Translations for the German soldiers speech:**

**Etwas hat bewogen – hast du gehort? Something moved – did you hear it?**

**Ja...sehen! Yes...look!**

**Fertig? Los! Ready? Go! (as in, shoot)**

**Next up, poor old Peter gets yet another shock, Cifel actually does something useful, Lucy and Susan encounter emotional turmoil, and Edmund has his second to last beach dream (only one more to go after this, I swear!)**

**If anyone can predict precisely where Peter is now, let me know! I want to see if anyone has figured out the pattern…**

**Review if you are feeling charitable!**


	9. Chapter nine

**A/N: Okay…we're back to Edmund POV for most of this chapter I've been neglecting him recently. I'd like to thank all the reviewers who have reviewed so far. Please remember that this is my first ever story!**

**And now I'll shut up and let you read...**

Chapter nine

Edmund frowned as he tied the laces to his now pristine black shoes. He wished he knew where he was. The young, dark haired boy had told him of the hunting accident, where he had fallen off his horse, hit his head, and been found out in the snow on the edge of the lake which surrounded this castle. The boy had told him no more. But where was this lake? Who was he? Was he really a Prince, as the boy had said?

"_I will make you Prince of Narnia, maybe even King, one day!"_

He recalled a kindly voice speaking these words. The Queen, he supposed. Well, if he could remember such words, then it must be true. If that was so, she did not sound like a cruel woman. Her voice in his fractured memories seemed soft and gentle. But there was something missing…something he had forgotten…

"_You forgot, you forgot, YOU FORGOT!"_

Edmund winced as another voice, a child's voice, invaded his senses. He tried desperately to cling to the voice, to conjure some sort of image, a face to match the child's desperate tones, but no such vision appeared. He growled, and slid off the bed, feet landing hard upon the stone floor. He had a feeling he had heard that voice before, many times. But when? Were the memories, or merely the remnant of a dream he had?

Edmund sighed, and reached into his chest pocket to retrieve the handkerchief the young boy had given him to wipe his nose when he had sneezed earlier that morning. He froze as his hand began to withdraw from the soft material.

Something else should have been in this pocket. It was there, on the very borders of his mind, he could almost see it. He closed his eyes, pulled out the handkerchief swiftly, then opened them to see the ornate carvings on the rosewood bedpost, and froze.

Tiny flowers.

They should have been blue, he reasoned. With a small yellow patch in the middle.

How did he know that? The dark haired boy had not told him that, he was sure of it. Where had that thought come from? Blue flowers…a yellow centre…sky blue, like…like…a pair of eyes, narrowed, accusing, and a small pale face, with…sandy, golden coloured hair tossing in the wind. He could see him! He could the little child, a boy, who had spoken to him. But when?

There was no answer to that question, but Edmund was encouraged by this small progress. He stood abruptly, and stared wildly around the room for a piece of paper and a pencil, anything with which he could record this small triumph. His eyes fell on a large, inky black coloured leather brown book, lying face down and disregarded on the floor not a few feet away.

He hurried over to it and lifted it with little effort. The pages were wafer thin and delicate, rustling ominously as he lifted it. He studied the cover. It had neither title nor author, merely the crude carving of what appeared to be a simple fish, made up of two lines bent in an oval shape and then crossing to form a tail. It appeared to have been scratched into the surface with some sort of sharp instrument. Edmund sat carefully down on the floor, and settled the book on his crossed legs.

Opening the front cover, his eyes widened as he found an ornate script also carved into the stiff leather, on the inside cover of the book:

_Edmund, Son of Adam. _

_Find the little boy with the broken smile from your memories, within the pages of this book, and all will become clear to you._

_You may find also, a powerful acquaintance who is not easy to forget. Do not trust your eyes, they deceive you._

_I wish you the best of luck, dearly loved blessed and cursed child of the forbidden earth._

Edmund read the note several times, feeling the indentations gently with his forefinger. It was hastily done, some of the writing faded as it curved awkwardly. He frowned, and glanced around the room, as if hoping the author was still somehow present nearby. He lowered his gaze, and turned the first page of the book, bending down so his nose nearly touched the paper and his dark hair fell in his eyes, to read the tiny writing which began below the simple title;

_Genesis_

_The beginning_

_In the beginning God _

_created the Heavens _

_and the Earth. Now _

_the earth was formless _

_and empty, darkness _

_was over the surface _

_of the deep, and the _

_Spirit of God was _

_hovering over the _

_waters._

_And God said, _

_let there be light…_

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There were sirens blaring. The sound of rumbling aircraft overhead, the smell of sulfur in the air. Peter knew this place well. He stared at the china plates hanging in the alcove by the dresser, the painfully familiar carpet beneath his feet, and felt no surprise or fear from the recognition. He walked slowly down the hallway which he had trodden many a time before, and came to stand in the doorway to the front room, and watched from just outside the doorframe.

The curtains were drawn, save for a small slit of light filtering in down the centre. This tiny amount of light was enough to illuminate the neatly arranged, slightly cramped room which had not changed since Peter had last seen it. Peter let his eyes roam over the window where Edmund had stood staring every night and every morning, either watching for their father or staring with hypnotized wonder at the soaring enemy aircraft above.

His eyes fell on the small table to the side of the sofa, where a shattered glass covered picture frame stood lopsidedly, showing a smiling man in army uniform with piercing sky blue eyes.

Peter felt the nausea rise in his stomach once again, and his hand flew to his now unmarked face, where the sticky, hot blood had once clung. But it was smooth now. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose.

"Peter?"

The slumped figure in the armchair sat up straight, her dark hair disheveled and he cheeks thin and hollow, more lined than Peter had remembered. Her dark eyes were filled with joy, mixed with fear, tiredness, and disbelief. She opened her mouth, and chuckled bitterly, weakly. Peter just watched her, trying desperately to find the smiling, strong woman who had bade him a loving goodbye at the train station not so long ago in this broken shell of a person.

"And now I know I really must be insane…"

The woman let out a choked chuckle, and Peter winced at the harsh sound, before his mother broke into a bout of coughs. He slowly approached the armchair, before he stood right in front of her, looking down at her. He didn't know what drove him to feel a strange sense of calm. He didn't know what instinct made him get down onto his knees and place his smooth, healthy hand atop her trembling, wrinkled one, and smile warmly.

"It's alright, Mum. It's okay."

She looked at him in confusion, then looked down to her hand, which he had held gently in his own. His mother had never seemed so delicate and frail before. Even though he couldn't properly feel her cold hand in his, as he was still only half solid, but it felt very real, nonetheless.

Helen Pevensie felt a gentle warmth slowly envelop her hand, then spiral lovingly up her arm, and she stared at the apparition which appeared as her son, and smiled back into her husbands blue eyes. She leant back in her chair and closed her eyes, sighing.

"I prayed for a sign of the Lord. I didn't expect him to send an angel to comfort me in my sorrow."

Peter's smile faltered, but when he saw a calm, content smile grow on his mothers face, and it shine with the strength of rekindled hope, he mimicked her expression and smiled all the wider.

"Tell me, angel. Are my children safe?"

Peter got up, and leant over the arm of the chair, and wrapped his astral arms around his mother, placing his cheek beside her slightly flushed one.

"Yes, mum. They will be safe. I'll look after them."

Helen opened her eyes once again looked to the small crucifix which hung above the fireplace. She sighed, her wearied body slipping slowly into a desperately craved dreamless sleep. Before she fell into the warmth completely, she spoke one last time.

"Watch over them, my angel. Get them home safe."

Peter watched his mothers peacefully sleeping face, and drew back, gathering the fallen quilt pooled at her feet and, with some difficulty, arranged it snugly around her shoulders. He smiled one last time, leant down and pressed a soft kiss to her temple, before turning and padding softly over to clamber up onto the window sill, staring out as the sirens halted in their screaming and the planes retreated back up into the swirling clouds.

There would be no more attacks tonight.

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Edmund had spent the whole morning reading the book, and felt a strange calm as he absorbed the writing on each thin page. It was comforting, somehow. And familiar. Maybe he had read this book before, somewhere, and had forgotten. Either way, it was a very interesting book. Edmund stretched slightly, wincing as his adolescent spine cracked, and then relaxed again. He was about a third of the way through. The illustrations were beautiful. They were all colours and hues, and appeared to have been hand painted. Every new story had a calligraphy designed first letter.

He had yet to find the little boy in the book yet, and was growing slightly frustrated. Had he missed something? He had searched carefully for any story involving a young boy, but found nothing. He paused, then re-arranged the book on his lap, and flicked idly through the pages, searching for something which may catch his eye.

Quite suddenly, something fell from the indent between two pages about three quarters through, and Edmund froze, his finger marking the page, staring down at it. It was a small, completely flat, blue flower. Before Edmund could study the page it had fallen from, the door slammed open and Edmund dropped the book in surprise, losing the page. Cifel skidded into the room, hair in disarray, and hastily bowed to Edmund before gasping out.

"My Prince, the Queen requests your presence at once!"

Edmund looked longingly from the book to Cifel, and slowly stood up.

"Now, Sennjan? But I was just…"

Cifel took hold of his arm, and pushed him towards the door, shooting a furtive glance at the book as he did so.

"No time! Hurry! Down the stairs, third double door on the left. Go!"

Once Edmund had turned the corner, Cifel closed the door and leant against it, breathing deeply, eyes closed. That had been close. Far too close. He hurried over to the fallen book, and searched desperately for the small flower he himself had placed within it. It was nowhere to be found. Had the son of Adam already found it? But he did not know. Not yet.

Cifel looked disdainfully down at the beautifully illustrated page where the small flower had been lodged, and smiled. He slammed the book shut and slid it under the bed, arranging the sheets to cover the small cavity beneath the rosewood base. He sighed, and muttered to himself;

"No, not yet. Not yet."

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**A/N: I was going to have Edmund's last beach dream, as promised, in this chapter, but unfortunately it just doesn't fit in. Next chapter, I swear, and it'll all become clear!**

**I'd like to have a bit of a rant. Why are people so obsessed with placing themselves as characters in Narnia? Don't get me wrong, some of these stories are well written and the OC characters well developed. I just don't understand why you would want to place yourself into a book…why spoil the original by twisting it so you are the main character? Does anyone know why people write stories like this? I'm not insulting them, in fact I have read quite a few myself and enjoyed it; I would just like to understand the motives behind them…**

**Ah well (sighs)**

**Review if you are feeling charitable!**


	10. Chapter ten

**A/N: Finally, the situation with Peter is near to ending, and the last EVER beach dream is done…this was one hell of a difficult chapter to write. The witch is a pain to keep true to her character. I am now the proud owner of Narnia Top Trumps! Ah, I'm so proud…It helps me find out the obscure characters names. I apologise, Krimlock's name is not correct. It is in fact Ginarrbrik, but I reckon my name is easier to pronounce.**

**I WILL REPEAT, ANYTHING IN ITALICS (in this chapter, anyway) IS A DREAM. All of the beach sections have been Edmund's dreams, they ARE NOT REAL. Okay? Goody goody.**

**Anyway…**

Chapter ten

_Screaming._

_Screaming on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam. Rushing waves, a single child screaming desperately._

_There was no laughter, nor crying. Edmund winced and brought a hand to his head, staring around for a sign of the little boy, whose voice was surely the one screaming. It did not sound as though he was afraid, nor in physical pain. He felt, somewhere deep in his memory, he had heard such sounds before. But try as he might, he could match no face to the sound. It had been higher pitched, though, and more controlled, an acceptance and mourning rather than a seeming despairing denial._

_He almost tripped over the red bucket, and two broken spades which lay in a heap, wet sand seeping over the dry surface, as though kicked in a frenzy. Small toy soldiers and horses, guns and tanks were littered across the sand in droves, thankfully all whole. Edmund followed the vague trail of destruction up the beach to the now almost completely destroyed deckchair, which was lying in hundreds of shards, half embedded in the sand._

_Edmund picked his way carefully through the wreckage, and stared down at the broken deckchair, troubled. It was a different sort of abuse from before. It looked like it had been kicked and snapped by a hand, not blown to pieces a sudden impact of high wind. Edmund stood up and stared around the deserted beach._

"_Anyone here?"_

_He called. It echoed around the empty, strangely quiet shoreline, and Edmund frowned, feeling the beginnings of fear beginning to settle in his stomach. He had met the little boy here before, he didn't know how, but he knew it. He should be here! The screaming had come from this direction. But it was now eerily silent, only the rustle of the far off trees on the coast made a sound._

"_He's broken."_

_Edmund leapt about a foot in the air, let out a yelp and turned, hand on his heart, to find the little boy standing right behind him, features hidden by his golden hair, cradling something in his hands close to his thin chest. Edmund leant down and studied the boy. Yes, this was definitely the boy he had met before. But he seemed different, somehow. Taller, thinner. He now reached Edmund's chest, his hair longer, and his features sharper._

_Simon, as the boy wished to be called, looked up with a blank expression and brought his hands carefully away from his chest to show Edmund a painted tin soldier, with sand coloured uniform stained with red, and no eyes shining in it's white face. Tiny patches of crimson were scattered across the toy. Simon dropped to his knees and gathered up some of the fallen soldiers, and a few guns, then lined them up neatly with his hands shaking slightly._

_Edmund sat down next to him, and watched him arrange them silently, righting the soldiers which fell over when the little boy positioned them too awkwardly. He studied the boy's face more carefully, trying to read his expression, but it seemed merely to show deep concentration. Simon bit his lip as he gently placed the white skinned, stained soldier a little way away from the line of guns and 'enemy' soldiers and seemed to pause, holding his breath._

"_BANG BANG BANG, atishoo, atishoo, and they all fall DOWN!"_

_The little boy's hand lashed out and flung the line of 'enemy' soldiers and weapons into the air, where they fell like shrapnel all around Edmund. The boy then wrapped his small fingers around the neck of the wooden soldier, a twisted smile filling his face with bitter sadness. He placed his other hand on the toy's feet, held it up in front of Edmund's face, and snapped it in two._

"_And Daddy's all gone."_

_The boy let out that terrible scream which Edmund had heard when he first came upon the beach, then curled in on himself, sobbing dryly, his frail figure shuddering uncontrollably. Edmund sat paralyzed, staring from the boy to the two broken halves of the toy at by his knee. He picked them up, and placed them carefully side by side, then wrapped a consoling arm awkwardly around the boy._

"_Hey, it's alright. We can fix it, we can glue it back together again. You'll see. Don't cry, Peter."_

_Edmund blinked. Peter. Where had that come from? This boy's name was Simon. But the name had seemed so…natural. So right. Peter. Peter. Something…something was pushing, slamming against the impenetrable frosted glass walls which enclosed his memories, something important. Simon. Peter. Edmund watched in helpless dismay as the little boy beat his fists against the ground and scrubbed furiously at his eyes, before letting out another fearful wail and throwing his arms around Edmund's torso, burying his head in his chest._

_Edmund stared, then slowly put his arms around the boy and rocked him gently as the small hands fisted in the material of his shirt and the centre of the garment grew damp with tears. He placed one hand on the golden hair, feeling the tickle at the back of his mind itch painfully. This was familiar. He could almost see it, hear it, smell it, but the walls of ice slammed up once more and Edmund felt a numb emptiness fill his head. He sighed, and rubbed the little boy's back in comforting circles._

_Eventually the boy drew back, and smiled shakily up at Edmund, wiping his nose on his sky blue jumper, which was stretched and damp now, too. Edmund reached into his pocket and withdrew a hankie, handing it to the boy and watching as he blew his nose and wiped his face, tears still clinging to his fair lashes and making his blue eyes shine overbright._

"_Will you promise me something?"_

_Edmund took back the hankie and placed a hand on the boys shoulder, standing with him as the boy struggled to his feet._

"_Yes, of course."_

_The boy smiled, drew in a deep breath, and drew a large bunch of sky blue flowers from behind his back, tied with an emerald green ribbon. Edmund took them, studying the small posy of carefully trimmed flowers, confused. He looked to the boy, who only smiled wider, the tear tracks dry on his cheeks._

"_Soon, you won't have to remember not to forget your brother anymore…but…don't you forget about me either, will you?"_

_Edmund frowned._

"_My…brother? But…Simon, Peter…you are Peter, aren't you?"_

_The boy stepped back, still smiling, and shook his head slightly, laughing._

"_You created me. I'm the embodiment of your love for your brother. You created me subconsciously to guard your memories, and thus your love, from the witch's spell. This is only a dream, Edmund. And you saved me. And soon you will remember. Just…please don't forget about me either, alright?"_

_Edmund stepped forward, but his movements were sluggish. The sun over the sea was setting. All was calm on the sunset lit shores…rays casting dancing red and yellow sparks across the glistening surface. Coarse sand beneath his feet grew damp with the oncoming tide, shells scattered here and there among seaweed and small pebbles covered with foam being drawn back into the warm depths. Rushing waves, a joy filled laugh, and the child was gone, sandaled feet slapping against the sand, waving a last goodbye._

_Edmund clutched the small posy to his chest as the world grew black, finally recalling the peculiar name given to the frail plants he held;_

_Forget me nots._

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Edmund jerked abruptly awake, stiff and aching all over, and sat up groggily, unsticking his cheek from the pages of the book. Like many times before now, he could not recall the dream he had just witnessed. But he was far too tired to attempt another through interrogation of his brain now. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and turned again to the task of flipping through the pages of the book for anything which may appear out of place, a hint, a sign, a symbol, anything.

Quite suddenly, something fell from the indent between two pages about three quarters through, and Edmund froze, his finger marking the page, staring down at it. It was a small, completely flat, blue flower. Before Edmund could study the page it had fallen from, the door slammed open and Edmund dropped the book in surprise, losing the page. Cifel skidded into the room, hair in disarray, and hastily bowed to Edmund before gasping out.

"My Prince, the Queen requests your presence at once!"

Edmund looked longingly from the book to Cifel, and slowly stood up.

"Now, Sennjan? But I was just…"

Cifel took hold of his arm, and pushed him towards the door, shooting a furtive glance at the book as he did so.

"No time! Hurry! Down the stairs, third double door on the left. Go!"

Once Edmund had turned the corner, Cifel closed the door and leant against it, breathing deeply, eyes closed. That had been close. Far too close. He hurried over to the fallen book, and searched desperately for the small flower he himself had placed within it. It was nowhere to be found. Had the son of Adam already found it? But he did not know. Not yet.

Cifel looked disdainfully down at the beautifully illustrated page where the small flower had been lodged, and smiled. He slammed the book down on the floor and slid it across the floor to lie in the middle of the room, face up, and open at the page which he himself had marked with the small blue flower. He sighed, and muttered to himself;

"No, not yet. Not yet."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund looked upon the witch, who sat regally on her icy throne. He felt that he should really feel some awe, or fear, or something, as he stood there. But really, his irritation at being so close to unraveling the mystery of his past overcame any emotions he may have had, and he resolved to get this meeting over with as soon as possible so he could get back to the book.

"Are you hungry, my child?"

The witch asked, gently. Edmund shook his head, studying her facial features carefully. Her face was kindly enough, but her eyes held some deeper purpose, some emotion which ran deeper than mere concern. He repressed the urge to shiver, and stiffened his back resolutely. He would not lose face in front of this Queen, or whoever she was.

"Do you have any idea who I am, Prince? Come closer, now."

Edmund walked forward to stand at the bottom of the steps to her raised dais, before answering with a swift and rather abrupt bow.

"No, your majesty. I do not."

The witch's eyes flashed and, for a single moment, Edmund saw the anger in them. This woman was, by no means, sincere. What was it the dark haired boy, Cifel, had told him? That there had been a hunting accident…but nothing more about his life before that. Something was wrong, out of place. He had a strange feeling in his chest, an uneasy sense that he was not safe here. He felt no familiarity for anything he had seen in this castle, unlike the flashes of brief memory he received in the things it was lacking. The flowers were a strange addition to the décor. He felt sure that they had not been planted by the witch, as the rest of the building was devoid of any life whatsoever.

"Very well. Do you recall anything of…your childhood? I would be most grieved if you did not remember those joyful days…you were so happy then…"

Her eyes grew distant, but Edmund did not feel in the least that she was truly recalling anything of the sort. This is a farce, he thought. This woman is not my ally. No matter who I am, I know I am not this 'Prince'.

The icy walls around his memories began to creak ominously. Edmund swallowed hard, feeling again that desperation to return to his room. The answers to all of this were just a few moments away from him, within the pages of the book. He had to get back to it. He had to.

"Um, begging your pardon, your majesty…" he bowed slightly, keeping his eyes focused on hers, carefully allowing none of his emotions to show on his face. "But I feel a little ill."

She smiled a fake, tight lipped, smile. Obviously she was not used to public displays of emotion. Edmund repressed the urge to shudder at the raw rage he saw simmering beneath the surface of those dark eyes.

"Of course. We shall talk later, when you feel better. Sleep well, dear Prince."

Edmund bowed hastily, and forced himself to walk slowly and deliberately until he was out of sight. He couldn't get the image of her face out of his mind. It was so…inhuman. Somehow, the knowledge that the rage was being suppressed scared him more than it being unleashed upon him. He couldn't allow himself to become distracted now.

He was close now, so very close, to discovering the truth.

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**A/N: NO MORE WEIRD DREAMS, PEOPLE. WE HAVE RETURNED TO NORMALITY. In the next chapter, finally, we will discover what the hell has been up with Peter. This is based a little on the symbolic meaning of CS Lewis' last book 'The Last Battle' in which a second Narnia is discovered, the 'real' one, and it is supposed to represent Heaven. Don't worry, though, Peter will soon be re-united with his body, and his brother, again (sappy smile). **

**Any comments would be appreciated! Please review!**


	11. Chapter eleven

**A/N: (stunned) Well…there were a lot of reviews for last chapter! Thanks so much! And thanks to everyone who answered my question about self insertions, I understand much better now. Understand, the more reviewI get, the faster I update!**

**IMPORTANT: YESTERDAY MY SERVER WENT WEIRD AND I COULDN'T ACCESS MY ACCOUNT. I couldn't update my new chapter, and I got pissed as hell. So if I take an abnormally wrong time, I'm probably grappling with my crappy internet connection. Apologies in advance!**

**OKAY finally, we have reached the point where everything actually gets going. Edmund gets his act together, and a very confused Peter returns to the real world at last. **

**I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and am looking forward even more to writing the next! This is a turning point in the story; from here the plot gets moving and things get more interesting. I hope you enjoy reading just as much as I enjoyed writing!**

**I will repeat, this fic is NOT SLASH and NOT INCEST (or Mary Sue for that matter), for future chapter reference. Oh yeah, any predictions on which side Cifel is actually on?**

Chapter eleven

Edmund lifted the iron latch on the door to his room, eying the small stone figure of a cowering cat at his feet. All these statues were…strange. Surreal. Why would anyone want figures which all seemed to either be despairing with fear or simply in pain? The witch must be a very troubled, lonely person, Edmund thought. He wondered whether she had always been this way. Cold, distant. Surely nobody was born like that.

But he had no time to dwell on thoughts such as that now. He closed the door and shivered at how cold the room seemed. He was only wearing a light cotton shirt and knee length shorts, no help at all when it came to conserving heat. Edmund rubbed his arms vigorously, and looked around for the book. It was where he had left it, lying open on the floor. Eagerly, he slid into a kneeling position and peered closely at the page. He retrieved the dead flower head from his pocket and inserted it carefully into the folded crease which marked the book's binding.

On the left page of the book, was a simple title of **John 20:28. **On the other side, there was a picture of two men. Walking along a beach, with a dozen figures huddled in the distance. They were both dark haired; with one more a sandy brown while the other a dark. The dark haired one, who seemed to glow with a golden aura and had a shining halo suspended above is head, was holding out his hands to the other, who was reaching out to take them, an earnest expression on his face.

Edmund frowned, and studied the picture carefully for any sign of the little boy from his dreams. He found nothing, and so moved over to read the text carefully. Again he found nothing which had anything to do with the dreams as for as he could see, when he came across the second paragraph, which was entitled:

_Jesus Reinstates Peter_

Edmund froze. The icy tendrils which engulfed his mind were thinning, growing weaker, creaking. He could almost see beyond the swirling white mist which surrounded his memories to the world beyond. His past. He placed a forefinger on the page and read a little way down, before he stiffened.

_When they had finished eating, Jesus_

_Said to Simon Peter, "Simon Son of John,_

_Do you truly love me more than these?"_

"_Yes Lord" he said "You know that I _

_Love you."_

Edmund read the first sentence again, then again, over and over until there words were imprinted into the very depths of his mind's eye.

Simon Peter.

Simon.

Peter.

Peter!

Edmund cried out in pain as the bonds of ice shattered, and images flooded his mind. Flow upon flow of memories, people, faces whipping past faster than the human eye could comprehend. Blurred colours and shapes assaulted his vision, and he bent double and leant his forehead against his knees, breathing hard, murmuring to himself over and over again the name which finally made sense, drew some meaning from his heart.

"Peter, Peter, Peter…"

His sisters, Susan, and Lucy, glaring, smiling, laughing, crying. They contorted, and mutated into the faces of his mother, the witch, countless strange mythical creatures he could never even have dreamed of. The kindly face of a golden maned lion, kingly in grace and yet seemingly good at heart. And finally, as the rushing sound faded to a ringing silence within his head, a single face drew itself up from the now calming torrent of memories.

Simon, the little boy from his dreams, clutching a posy of blue flowers and smiling sadly up at him. He faded, to be replaced by the sharper, more refined features of his older brother. Peter. Fear filled china blue eyes, face paler than the witch's snow, a trickle of dark blood oozing down from a gash on his temple. Edmund's eyes snapped open.

"No…Peter…"

He rasped out, completely winded.

"You know, humans really are pathetic little creatures. I mean, surely you should have been able to break through such a weak barrier as that in no time…sad, really."

Edmund rose slowly to his feet, eyes fixed on the figure leaning casually against the opposite wall, dark hair falling carelessly into his face. He felt grounded. Strong. It was not a strength born of the sudden revelation of his past, who he was. He had never been this strong, never felt this way before. He was angry, but it was different from the childish tantrums and hatred which he had embraced before entering Narnia.

It was cold, calm, and direct. It scared him a little, even as the anger flooded his senses and made his muscles stiffen. He rose to his feet, feeling none of the remnants of weakness he had endured during his 'ailment'. His heart began to beat faster, the blood roaring in his ears, quite different from the rushing torrent which had invaded him only moments before.

"You," Edmund began, slowly, choosing his words carefully "had better tell me what is going on, or so help me God I'll-"

Cifel snorted, and propelled himself away from wall and stalking over to stand face to face with Edmund, who realized, to his great surprise, that the boy seemed much shorter than he had before.

"You'll what? You're just a weak little human. What business do you have in Narnia, anyway? We take care of ourselves." Cifel stated disdainfully, folding his arms. Edmund felt his anger and frustration swell.

"Well obviously you're wrong, or Aslan wouldn't have called us here!" he retorted. He stepped back abruptly as Cifel's eyes suddenly became clouded with cold fury.

"ASLAN BE DAMNED!" he hissed, and turned away, wrenching the book from the floor and shoving it under Edmund's nose.

"See this?" he gestured violently to the man in the picture with the ethereal glow, and Edmund blinked, before realization struck.

"Why, it's the Bible! Of course…I forgot…oh, hell, I forgot everything…"

The serious nature of the situation sunk in, and Edmund put a hand to his head and sank down on the bed, thoughts of all kinds swirling around in a blur. Where were Susan and Lucy? Were they safe? And Aslan? Why had he not been present at the battle?

The battle…

Memories of the battle were blurred. There was a rush of colours…the witch…a blinding light, immense pain and…Peter's face…

Peter…

Edmund leapt to his feet, fear filling the pit of his stomach like lead. He had attacked the witch to save Peter. And he had failed. The witch was still very much alive…then what of his brother?

"You!"

Edmund grasped Cifel by the neck of his cloak and clenched his fist in the material, not caring that his limbs had begun to tremble.

"There was another…a boy…my brother, is he here? Is he alive?"

Cifel slapped his hand away irritably, and rolled his eyes. He dusted off his cloak and re-adjusted it around his shoulder before replying.

"Yes, I was wondering when we might get to that. It is a…difficult question to answer."

Edmund sneered, and felt the now familiar anger override his fear, quelling his shaking muscles and making him stronger, in control.

"Why! Because you don't want to tell me? Because you were _ordered _to by the witch?"

Apparently he had struck a nerve. Cifel's eyes narrowed to slits and his entire body went rigid, fists balling up and arms raising in seeming defense.

"Do not **ever **imply I answer to that **cur, **_human._" He spat, slamming the book shut with a painful snap and dropping it to the floor, his mouth curling into a snarl. Edmund ignored this, his mind once again on his brother. Cifel was avoiding the question.

"Tell me." He said, quietly "Tell me now, or human or not, I will rip your head off." He said it so calmly. His voice sounded so foreign even as it left his lips. Cifel's anger seemed to die, and he looked Edmund up and down, impassive now.

"I must say…I am impressed, son of Adam. It seems you grew into a man even while I was watching a child struggle to break free." He bowed slightly. "Very well. I must tell you, the moment I answer the question you requested, many doors will be closed to you. You will never be able to go back to being an innocent child, bereft of responsibility." He paused, and gazed levelly at Edmund.

"I will ask only once; are you willing to risk all, for your family?"

Edmund didn't stop to think.

"Of course!" he said, aghast "I love them."

He faltered. He had never, in his whole life, actually uttered those words. Even thought them, not clearly. He had always been thinking only of what was wrong in the world; what he hated, what he didn't like, what he would change if he could. He had never had the courage to tell any of his family he loved them, not in sincerity. He supposed he was, truly, simply a coward at heart.

Cifel smiled reminiscently, and Edmund stared at him. He was not looking at Edmund, but seemed to see through him.

"Humans are such strange creatures. You put them through hell, and they bounce right back, begging for more." He sighed. "I fear I shall never understand."

'Oh, children of the forbidden earth. How I hate, and yet love you so.'

He pulled Edmund to his feet, and hurried over to the door, pausing to speak one last sentiment;

"But before I explain, I must show you something."

And without further ado, he yanked Edmund out of the door and into the cold, statue filled passage beyond, leaving the door to bang shut behind them.

And in the courtyard below them, hidden beneath a stone cross wreathed in small, delicate blue flowers, a still figure lay smothered in a light layer of dust and frosted ice; his lips blue, and his golden hair and eyelashes adorned with ice melting to dew.

It was time.

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**A/N: Oooh, now I'm getting excited…I remember why I wrote this story now! Yes, all that suspense and confusion was leading up to something…which shall begin to occur in the next chapter. Speaking of which…**

**(Clears throat) Next chapter, Cifel has a LOT of explaining to do, Edmund has many and varied emotional trauma, Peter is confused, and Aslan takes a trip down memory lane…not literally, thankfully. That would be just too confusing…**

**The Bible reference is accurate. To explain, it is the parable in which Jesus takes Peter aside and asks him to pledge his allegiance to him. It is very reminiscent of when Aslan knights Peter in Narnia. CS Lewis himself uses this exact same symbolism, as Aslan is a symbolic representation of Jesus in Narnia. When CS Lewis wrote the line which Aslan says:**

"**You may find me in your world, too."**

**Or something along those lines. He is Jesus in our world. Peter is also a symbolic representation of Peter Christ's first disciple. There are a hell of a lot of Bible and religious references all over the Chronicles of Narnia, and as a Christian, maybe it's clearer to me than to others. Anyway, so I didn't just make it up. CS Lewis was the inspiration for the whole Bible subplot.**

**(Cough) Remember, no pain, no gain! Review and I'll update faster!**


	12. Chapter twelve

**Happy New Year, everyone!**

**A/N: I hope I did this chapter justice. If not, tell me you are not satisfied and I shall rewrite it. I am a little worried about this chapter…**

**A MASSIVE thanks to all my reviewers! Wow, you all liked the last chapter a lot. I hope this one lives up to expectations…it took a long time to write, I kept reading it over and deciding I didn't like a certain aspect, then starting again I'm still not entirely satisfied, but it'll have to do…(sigh)**

**To Lady Lenna: To answer your question about why the Aslanders are just sitting back and doing nothing, it is explained way back in chapter eight when the witch wrote her conditions to Aslan, as follows:**

_**The sons of Adam will not be harmed, unless the following agreement is violated. If that is so, I will immediately cut their throats myself, without hesitation nor negotiation.**_

**_The Land of Narnia shall be split into the North and the South. The upper land shall be owned by me, therefore, I shall own: Lantern Waste, the Great River, Owlwood, Northern Marshes and the River Shribble to the East. The rest belongs to the Daughters of Eve and all Narnian creatures loyal to them. If any such creature were to venture over the border, the truce is violated and my army shall attack, while the Sons of Adam will be executed._**

**So you see, they cannot stage a rescue because the witch would know as soon as they crossed the border, and both Peter and Edmund would be killed, thus defeating the whole purpose of the rescue. Savvy?**

**And a congratulations to Capegio and (lazy) Straitjacket, who correctly guessed which side Cifel is on. Well done! You have a good judge of character! (or maybe you're just psychic…)**

Chapter twelve

Edmund hardly noticed the cowering statures now, as he was led at an uneven pace through endless passages and passed many doorways. He wondered if they were all empty, devoid of life. There were stalactites and stalagmites scattered everywhere, like wretched needles, eager to impale any living soul which may enter. Cifel and Edmund said nothing to each other, both thinking deeply and silently.

Finally, they reached a wrought iron gate, the rusty bars dripping with frozen rain, stilled in mid-fall. Cifel reached inside his cloak, and retrieved a large, plain iron key and fitted it awkwardly into the lock.

"You must be deeply trusted by the witch, if she gives you the keys to her very sanctuary."

Edmund commented, as he helped Cifel to push the door ajar. It was very heavy, and Edmund felt his shoulder protest and bruise at the weight. Cifel snorted as he grabbed Edmund's arm and pulled them both to hide behind large, reared griffin with wings spread wide.

"Don't be so presumptuous. You really think she would trust me so?"

"Then how-"

"I stole it, fool! Now be quiet and follow my lead."

Edmund stared at Cifel. Precisely what were this strange boy's intentions? Was he an ally, or working for the witch? If so, what was the purpose of all this? Was it a trick, or a trap?

But Edmund's line of thought was disrupted, as he was suddenly jerked forward and moved swiftly from great statue to great statue, until they both stood facing the castle with the gate leading to the great lake beyond. Edmund stared up at the newly erected structure in the centre of the courtyard.

It was a six foot high, slender, sparsely decorated cross. It was raised on a small stone podium, about one foot off the ground. Although it appeared to be quite new, there were already small patches of bright flowers, all pale colours and shades of cream, white and blue, twining around the main cross and over the base podium.

Edmund was jolted out of his reverie as Cifel leant down and placed both hands on the base of the cross, and began to push. Edmund stared, dumbfounded. What was the boy doing now?

"Well, are you going to help me or not, human?"

Edmund bristled, but hastily bent down to assist Cifel. The cross was very heavy, and it only moved a fraction of an inch with each push. Eventually, the structure gave way under the pressure and a dark, open space, like a trapdoor, was slowly becoming visible as the cross moved to the side.

They both stood quite still, breathing heavily, and Edmund pushed back his sweat soaked fringe from his brow, looking at Cifel out of the corner of his eye. The other boy was staring down into the darkness within the trapdoor's depths as though it held some secret meaning; an answer to all his questions. Edmund, unimpressed and impatient, smacked him on the shoulder.

"Are we going or not?"

Cifel glared up at him, before abruptly grasping hold of the sharp upper edge of the cross and lowering himself gingerly into the darkness below, slowly, until his feet apparently hit solidity and he dropped. Edmund glanced once around the courtyard, then up to the castle above, searching for any sign of movement, but found none. Skeptical but determined, he mimicked Cifel and followed the other boy down into the darkness below.

There was a flight of three steep stone steps, leading downwards, but beyond that the light of the fading day above was cut off by a sudden outcropping of neatly cut rock, and there was only deep blackness. Edmund reached down to grab Cifel's shoulder as the other boy began to slowly descend.

"What?"

Cifel hissed, burgundy eyes strangely bright in the gathering darkness, the pupils widened, giving his face an ethereal appearance. Edmund pulled Cifel back by his cloak so they were face to face.

"I can't see in the dark, idiot!"

Cifel smirked, and reached inside his cloak to retrieve a small, spherical shaped object, and held it up for Edmund to see. It appeared to be made of glass (or, more likely, ice) and was paper thin, and apparently hollow. It hung on the end of a thin silver chain, and as Cifel placed it in Edmund's outstretched hand, the chain wrapped itself around each of his fingers in a single loop. It tightened gently, and the sphere hung below Edmund's palm like some obscure piece of jewellery.

Cifel leant down, and blew carefully on the sphere. Immediately, a small blue flame sprang to life within the centre, the light casting dancing shadows upon the sheer walls around them. Cifel bowed mockingly.

"Satisfied, my _Prince?_"

He said sarcastically. Edmund stared from the sphere, to Cifel, and back again.

"How did-?"

Cifel rolled his eyes and tutted, as though reprimanding a child, and a dense one at that.

"Why, son of Adam, I thought you would have learnt not to question the magic of this realm. Besides…" he raised a slender forefinger to point upwards "I made the flowers grow, did I not?"

Without waiting for an answer he whirled about and descended the last three steps to the bottom, his cloak swirling behind him. Edmund gingerly held the small sphere aloft, and followed.

At first, Edmund could see nothing over the flickering the flame which dangled from his hand, and Cifel's back moving slowly forwards. But as he came to the bottom of the flight of steps, he saw that he was in a small room, a little like a dungeon cell, but more pleasant somehow. There was a niche set into the wall farthest from him, with the glint of metal shimmering in the hollow. He frowned. Why had Cifel brought him here?

And then, he turned his gaze upon the rest of the room.

His eyes traveled from the floor, up the length and width of the raised dais, and then upon the limp figure lying just as Cifel had left him, still and quiet, the navy coloured cloak settled across him like a blanket of water.

His heart stopped beating. All strength left his limbs, drawn inwards to feed the gathering storm of emotions which plagued him in a torrent of pain. Joy, relief, fear, horror. His blood ran cold as he stumbled forwards just as Cifel stepped carefully back, allowing him clear access to the centre of the room. Everything slowed to a terrible pace, as if the world was holding it's breath in anticipation of what was to come.

The moment was broken as Edmund dashed forwards and snatched the makeshift mantle away from the figure, dread and rapture and desperation filling his head, his heart, until he found it difficult to breath. His hand raised, shaking, and hung in midair, uncertain, indecisive.

Before it fell upon the perfectly solid shoulder of his older brother.

He was real.

He was here.

Edmund could touch him.

With the strangled sound of an indefinable emotion, Edmund placed a second hand on his brothers other shoulder and simply stared, wide eyed. He was numb, his heart was barely beating, he couldn't breath…but somehow, none of it mattered. In that tiny fraction of joy, Edmund found a cure for all the hurts, all the pain he had been through since he had first entered Narnia; and he felt the strength return again to him, filling him insurmountable energy.

And then his face fell.

Fear once again filled the bottom of his stomach like lead, ensnaring his senses, throttling his brain. He couldn't think. He could barely speak.

Peter was so _cold. _Beneath the light, pale blue cotton shirt he wore, there was no warmth. No gentle pulse of blood beneath his skin, no rise and fall of his chest. Edmund's gaze swept up to his brother's face, and he let out a gasp as his heart clenched.

Peter's face was deathly pale, with no hint of a flush of blood beneath his cheeks. His eyes were closed, and small crystallized snowflakes of ice glistened, clinging to his eyelashes. His lips were a sickly blue colour, and were chapped as though frozen. His sandy hair was dulled by a thin layer of dust.

He looked…dead.

Frantically, Edmund placed his index and forefinger under the left side of his brother's chin, and shuddered at how cold and clammy his skin was to touch. He waited. The seconds passed, agonizingly slowly.

There was no pulse.

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_Aslan stared at the dark haired boy, as they stood silently together on a cliff beside the sea. The child was troubled. But it could not be helped. Other countries had need of him, other creatures on the brink of destruction._

"_I hate you."_

_The boy turned cold burgundy eyes to the Great Lion, no shred of reverence or fear remaining of the respect and love which once shone in them. Aslan closed his eyes and felt his heart ache._

"_Oh, child. Do not despair so."_

_The boy unfolded his arms and moved to stand face to face with Aslan, whose head was still turned away. The ocean breeze rustled through his wild hair, calming him._

"_Why? Of all the times to leave…"_

_Aslan opened his eyes and turned liquid pools of amber upon the boy. But the child did not flinch as he had done so many times before._

"_I am not afraid of you anymore, Lion. You may save your pitiful humanitarian guilt trips for someone who cares."_

_He paused, and pushed the disruptive locks of dark hair from his pale face, gazing levelly, impassive, back into Aslan's face._

"_You trust the fate of my realm to a band of witless weaklings?"_

_The lion stared out to sea, watching the gulls soar far off on the horizon. Free. Alive. He watched as the boy turned away once again, to hide the emotions Aslan knew he thought weak._

"_You leave us alone to wait, fend for ourselves?"_

_The boy shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly a child once again. Aslan sighed as the boy continued._

"_I will not trust all I have worked for to mere children. I won't."_

"_My dear child," Aslan chuckled deeply "I fear you shall never understand. It is the blessing, and the curse, of your kind."_

_The lion nudged the boy's shoulder gently with his nose, and he moved aside obediently, now listening intently._

"_The guardians of my realm. My children."_

_The boy stared unblinkingly down at him, his features impassive._

"_It is your duty to defend this country. These children are our last hope. You must wait patiently, as the covenant commands, and be ready when the time comes."_

_The boy looked disdainfully down at the large, wrapped brown parcel which was held carefully in the lion's jaws. He reached out, wrapped a hand around the coarse binding, and lifted it up._

_He ripped the paper off, and stared at the large inky black coloured leather bound book lying in his hands. He fingered the title, which was imprinted with gold leaf into the spine._

"_Holy Bible?"_

_Aslan smiled and nodded approvingly._

"_You studied well the language of humans, child. I leave this book with you as a memento of my passing."_

_He paused, and his eyes grew serious._

"_If you ever have need of answers, or are in doubt of your faith in me, simply let the book fall open in your hands, and all will become clear to you."_

_Aslan smiled fondly as the boy stared skeptically down at the book, and placed a velveted paw beneath the boy's chin to lift his head up to look at him._

"_Be well, little one."_

_Aslan rubbed his soft, furry cheek against the side of the boy's head, and turned, staring once again out to sea, far, far beyond the horizon._

"_Be strong, Cifel."_

Aslan closed his eyes and laid his head on his paws as the memory faded, the ache in his heart deeping and becoming a terrible throbbing pain his his chest.

'My poor, misguided child. Why did you turn against me?'

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**A/N: (various sharp objects are thrown the authoress' way) okay fine, so that was a little evil…next chapter, Edmund and Peter perform a rather sloppy escape, Cifel makes the usual sarcastic comments, the witch gets pissed off, and Susan and Lucy are still as clueless as ever to what the hell is going on.**

**I know I said I would explain what was up with Peter in this chapter, but it would ruin the story…and the cliffhanger. (evil grin) The last section was**

**Any comments would be appreciated! Please review!**


	13. Chapter thirteen

**A/N: I know this took longer than usual, but I have several very good excuses; firstly, the space bar on my keyboard went crappy on me, so I got a new keyboard. Then the whole frigging computer got spyware and I had to go without the internet for two days. TWO DAYS! Anyway, so that's why. Go and beat the crap out of the spyware people, it's their fault this chapter was late (glowers)**

**Oh yeah, I've also worked out why I get no reviews during the day and then loads overnight. Because I live in Britain, my daytime is your nighttime. So I don't stay up all night to update, after all…am I right?**

**And I also lost a whole page of chapter thirteen, and cannot remember ANY of it. I am going to have to redo it now…sorry if it seems a little rushed.**

**And now…(sighs and cracks knuckles)**

Chapter thirteen

"He's not dead, you know. Not yet."

Edmund did not turn to look at the other. He did not want to see the smirking face, the mocking eyes. He was so weak with relief he couldn't even bring himself to snap at Cifel. His anger was being sapped, diverted to feed the fluctuating emotions which engulfed him. Relief. Numb despair. Panic.

"You-"

His voice was unsteady, as though he were on the verge of tears, but there was no moisture gathering in his eyes. Peter would not have wanted him to cry. Peter would have wanted him to be strong, like his older brother was.

Edmund placed a hand just above his brother's face, and felt no warm tingle of exhaled breath on the back. The hand dropped to rest on the pale cheek. It was perishing with cold, and was covered in a light layer of dust and moisture. Edmund pushed it away as he continued, his voice steadier now.

"What, exactly…" his voice was dangerously quiet, and his hand dropped away to rest on his brother's shoulder allowing him to turn to look Cifel in the eye. He swallowed thickly, fist clenching in the soft material of Peter's shirt, as though to anchor himself to reality.

"Did you do to my _brother?_"

His voice rose in volume as he spoke, until the last word was yelled, echoing around the silent chamber and mimicking him in a sick mockery, repeating the last word like a mantra. Cifel moved carefully away from the wall, face impassive, and moved to stand beside Edmund, who moved to block his brother from view.

"It is…complex." Cifel began, holding a hand up to still Edmund's unspoken interruption "But I shall explain. You must be patient, however. Losing control will not help your brother now."

Edmund's anger rose again, but sank as he realized that, unfortunately, Cifel was right. He needed to stay focused, remain calm. But Peter was his _brother…_

"As I said, he is not dead." Cifel pushed past Edmund's protective arm to grasp Peter's wrist, frowning.

"Not quite. His body is still living, the pulse is just too weak to feel it."

Cifel dug his fingers deep into Peter's inner wrist, to which Edmund made a noise of protest and made to wrench the offending arm away, but Cifel shook his head. There was a moment of absolute silence as Cifel frowned down at Peter, while Edmund frowned at Cifel.

Then Cifel drew back, nodding, and Edmund pulled the sleeve down over the bruising which rose on his brother's wrist, glaring daggers at the back of Cifel's head.

"Yes," the other boy muttered distractedly "Pulse steady, aura signature still present…no sign of inhalation, though…that is strange…perhaps I waited too long…"

"But why!"

Edmund burst out, looking from Peter's face to Cifel's, the desperation taking hold.

"Why is he like this?"

"Because…" Cifel hesitated, and then continued on "…because his soul has been separated from his body."

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Cifel watched as the youngest son of Adam blinked once, twice, then three times, and wondered if he had accidentally sent the boy into shock. He had heard of human ties with their families causing diverse reactions, but this was ridiculous. The boy was practically _besotted _with his brother, and keeping him safe. He had felt the troubling aura patterns emanating when the boy had first entered the crypt, and was beginning to become concerned for his own safety.

After all, emotions were a powerful thing. Especially love.

But love can be deceitful. Make you blind. Humans didn't seem to care, however.

"_WHAT?"_

Cifel gathered his wits and readied himself for the coming onslaught. It could have been worse, he supposed. The boy could have fainted or something, and then he would be lumbered with two utterly useless allies instead of one.

Not that they were allied except by force of the situation, of course. But Cifel was glad at that. Emotion led to attachment, attachment led to commitment, commitment led to mistakes, mistakes led to problems and problems led to complications.

Cifel blinked.

He had to stop confusing himself…it was becoming a rather annoying habit.

He was startled out of his reverie as he suddenly found the boy's face close to his, hands twisting in his cloak, before he was bodily thrown across the room and into the far wall. He instantly conjured a shield out of pure instinct, and rebounded of the floor to look up into the narrow, stormy dark eyes of the other.

This could take quite some considerable time.

"What do you mean? His…soul? But…where is it now? How do we get it back?"

Cifel rubbed his temples absently as he thought carefully. The spell he had used to enchant the boy was of deep magic. It had originally been used as a test for early knights of the order of the Lion, in order to test their intentions were pure and their ability to love their King and their Country was true. Apart from anything, it also was a way of telling if they were intelligent or not.

"His body is here and well, but his soul…" Cifel closed his eyes, thinking, "I cannot sense him. He could be anywhere. He will not have moved in this time, but he could have moved in space. Souls are not physical vessels, you know. They can move between the worlds at will."

Edmund's eyes narrowed as he stared with an intense gaze at Cifel.

"So what you're saying," he began, voice rising "Is while I've been sitting back forgetting my whole life ever existed…Peter's soul has been wandering around all the worlds." He turned slowly to Cifel. "And _you _did it to us."

"Under orders by the witch, of course. Before you go all valiant on me, human, allow me to say this: your brother's soul could have been anywhere in the dimensions. It is likely he subconsciously willed himself to somewhere where someone, or something, was familiar to him, so I doubt he went beyond the world of the wardrobe-"

"How do you know about the wardrobe!"

Edmund cut in, but Cifel resolutely ignored him and continued.

"-so that is not the problem here. You see, the charm I have bestowed upon him is deep magic. It can only be countered by the breaking of the charm with the original factor it was supposed to be broken with."

Cifel cleared his throat, and stood up straight, arms hanging limply at his sides.

"You see, in the olden days, Knights of Narnia, before they were bestowed that title, had to pass a series of tests, most grueling ones, at that. The seventh and final test was a test of the heart, rather than physical or mental prowess."

Cifel placed a steady hand on Peter's forehead and continued.

"Someone dear to the initiate was subjected to the deep magic I used to charm your brother. If they broke it, then that initiate was granted his title. However…"

Cifel moved away from Peter and stood instead in the middle of the room.

"There was a limit. If the initiate took too long, their loved ones came back…changed. No one could explain it, and the charmed ones themselves certainly weren't telling."

Cifel watched as Edmund's face grew paler.

"There was an overseer to all of this, of course. And they were the only ones who knew precisely what happened to those placed under the deep magic. The most powerful creature in Narnia, the Guardian of the Gate left in charge by the Great Lion himself."

Edmund frowned.

"Then how…"

Cifel rolled his eyes and smacked Edmund upside the head.

"I am that Guardian, idiot! Or I was, a long time ago."

Cifel closed his eyes tightly and leant against the dais, drawing strength from its solidity. He took a deep breath.

"But I let my guard down. Despaired. Grew weaker as the hours of darkness grew longer, waiting in desperation for the Lion to return and relieve me of my post. But he never came. And the land of Narnia reflected my weakness. Guardians, you see, are tied inexplicably to the realm they are guarding."

Cifel hunched over, his voice growing louder with each word.

"Be patient, he said. Help will come, he promised me, he promised! And now, I discover the aid he told of is no more than a group of weak, pathetic, witless HUMANS!"

He slammed his fist down dangerously close to Peter's torso, and Edmund let out a strangled protest and pushed Cifel away from the dais, where the boy folded himself once again against the wall. He was breathing heavily, glaring at Edmund and Peter in turn.

"The witch came, my land became weaker with each passing rise and fall of the dimming sun. and with it, I grew weak, also. Eventually she set her sight on capturing the Guardian of the realm, and condemned me to suffer for the Lion's arrogance. She told me…"

He shuddered, and covered his ear with his hands, shaking his head violently.

"Whispers, treacherous lies, pouring into my ear…"

He seemed to quite suddenly gather himself together, and stood straight and tall, face once again impassive, but his hand shook at his sides. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"But that holds no sway here."

He stood tall, and raised one hand to point at Edmund.

"What matters is this; I, Lucifel, Guardian of the Realm of Narnia, challenge you, Loved and Cursed child of the forbidden Earth, to prove yourself worthy of the Great Lion."

He lowered his hand, staring unblinkingly at Edmund.

"Son of Adam, win your spurs."

Edmund stared at him, his own hand searching out the larger, terribly cold hand of his brother, and he clasped it tightly, willing to feel the strength he always felt in his brother's presence. But Peter was not here. He was lost, and it was up to Edmund to find him.

Was this what responsibility was, he wondered? To love, and care so much you are unafraid to suffer, so long as the other was safe. And even when it is over, and you lie dead or dying beside them, to still feel only the pain of love? If it was so painful, why did it feel so right?

'Because he's your brother;' came a voice from deep within him, unbidden 'and you love him.'

Edmund drew himself up, gave one last glance down at his brother's still form, and carefully laid the hand he had clenched so tightly neatly on his brothers chest, before turning to face Cifel, dark eyes burning with an inner fire.

"What must I do?"

His voice was quiet, but strong. He feared no armies, no viciously sharpened blade descending. He was ready to prove himself now, and felt more grounded in reality than he had ever felt before. Was this what had been missing, all these years?

"Then listen carefully, Son of Adam, to the words I shall recite:

Though doomed you are to slumber hither

Till ages pass, and love doth wither

Heed my words, a kingly grace

Falls most fairly upon your face

Even in sleep you may be found

Which by blood may be unbound

Through a love, by blood unknown

Two kings may sit upon their throne

Pure love's mark laid, and born anew

The bond by which was forged so true

Then sleep no more, but rise forthwith

Look not afore, but justly forgive

Patience, sweet Prince, despair not so

Return love with love, and malice forgo

Only then shall come the well fought fight

A curse, a blessing, a quest for light."

There was a ringing silence.

"Well, Son of Adam? Your brother is waiting."

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**A/N: So, now you know. Once AGAIN, I didn't get round to the sloppy escape. Apologies, but I don't want to rush this section. It is a very important part of the story, and sets the stage for the battle to come.**

**INPORTANT: To all the people complaining about the religious stuff, you've got the wrong end of the stick. It is not directly related to the story. It is unclear whether CS Lewis meant Aslan to be Jesus in our world, but this is an INTERPRETATION which I have taken a liking to. The religious thing is not a big part of the story, in fact, it will only get a few small references from now on, which I shall explain as we go. DON'T PANIC, PEOPLE!**

**ALSO IMPORTANT: Just to make things slightly clearer, I will explain the dreams one more time. Peter was not, in fact, dreaming. As his soul is detached from reality, he can will himself between the worlds. His body is able to survive without his soul, but only by the barest minimum. **

**So everything from Peter POV did, actually, happen. Henry Pevensie is really dead, and Helen Pevensie is really going insane. I would suggest going back and reading the last few chapters again with that knowledge and seeing how different it is to read.**

**To CryinCindyLouWho: Actually, that is a good idea, but no, Cifel is not a representative of Judas. You aren't far off, though. Here's a hint, which may give you insight on things to come if you correctly guess a second time: think wings.**

**To anyone who is jolly confused: Be patient. I will explain in time.**

**Oh, yes. Anybody think they know who Cifel represents?**

**Any comments would be appreciated! Please review!**


	14. Chapter fourteen

**A/N: You know, I never actually expected this story end up going on for so long. It's the longest story I've ever written, and probably the best, too. So, I would like to thank everyone who was reviewed with their helpful comments and encouragement (and professions of confusion) and thanks for sticking with it!**

**You guys rock!**

**And I will say (yet again) that this is NOT SLASH and NOT INCEST. I have nothing against either, but in this instance it is simply not appropriate. **

**And now, without further ado, I present…Ironic Synchronity, chapter fourteen…**

Chapter fourteen

It was dark.

Peter didn't dare to open his eyes. Whatever lay beyond the barrier of his sight, he could be sure it would not be something he wanted to see. He could hear far away voices, fluctuating in and out of tune, indistinct.

'What do you mean?'

'There's no time, Son of Adam! Think!'

'I can't…I don't…understand…'

Peter knew those voices. One sounded despairing, soft and quiet, and painfully familiar. But he couldn't bring himself to match that voice with a face. He knew, were he to remember, he would have to leave this place. And he wasn't ready. Not yet.

The other voice had spoken to him only in prose. A long verse, filled with hope and anticipation. It was an old verse. It had been spoken to him twice, now.

'I don't know what to do! I want to help him, but I don't know how!'

'Then clear your mind of emotion, and follow only your heart.'

Peter curled into a tight ball, folding inwards, as if trying to hide or protect himself from some invisible force. He could feel the insistent tug of the warm, wafting breeze growing stronger. At first, he hadn't noticed it, but now it enveloped him, penetrating him gently. He winced, and called out.

"No…"

But it made no sound in the darkness beyond his closed lids. He remembered now. He had no lips to call with, no voice to speak with. He was a bodiless spirit, unending, unseeing, unknowing, unfeeling.

So why could he feel that familiar voice, if he had no ears to hear with?

'You must call him, human. Call him with all the strength your heart possesses.'

Silence.

'Peter?'

Peter felt a ghostly shadow of a hand enclose his wrist, and another covering his forehead. He shied away from the unexpected warmth, searching desperately for the cold, but it was nowhere to be found. Warmth was closing in on him, through him, swirling in the world beyond his denial.

'Peter…wake up…please…'

He lay still, the swirling patterns of warm air gathering together to form a steady mass, tugging him away from the cold. It was no longer dark beyond his closed eyelids. His world had turned a gentle, yellow hued shade of peach.

'Peter…I _need _you to wake up_…_I can't go on if you don't. I won't go on without you. You've always been stronger than any of us…and we need you now more than ever. Not just me, but Lucy, and Susan, too.'

Susan and Lucy? They…needed him? Where was he? He should be…there for them…he had promised his mother, his father, that he would be. Protect them, care for them as well as their parents would, and could have done.

Edmund…

Blinding light, a weary, accepting smile on his young face…his little brother, he had failed him…failed them all…but even so, they still needed him. No matter how much he failed, real responsibility was climbing back onto his feet, facing his failure in the face and reaching out his hand once again to his family.

Susan, Lucy…Edmund.

'Peter…please…'

His little brother's voice was growing stronger, louder, and yet it sounded so hopeless, so despairing. Did Edmund not believe in him?

Why should he?

He had failed them all. He had lost their trust. But he could regain it…he could get up, and fight, and…perhaps even make up for their father's death…

There was a searing, yet gentle pressure suddenly upon his forehead.

And with a sudden shuddering cry, Peter's voice could speak.

His eyes could see.

His ears could hear.

It was pain beyond the boundaries of wretchedness. It was intolerable, unendurable. His blood was frozen, then boiling in his veins. The trapped air in his lungs was stale and dust filled, and he dispelled it with stiff, tired muscles which ached with each movement. His heart was thundering, pounding in his ears, and he doubled over on a hard, stone surface, clutching his stomach.

Through the deafening torrent of battle within him, he heard a wavering voice softly sound above the confusion.

"Peter?"

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Edmund drew back in confused anticipation and apprehension as Peter's body suddenly jerked and convulsed as though suddenly struck by an invisible force. Cifel moved forwards suddenly, watching with impassive features, betrayed only by his eyes widening in fear.

"Peter?"

And then those china blue eyes flew open, and met Edmund's own.

In that fraction of a second, Edmund felt and saw a hundred differing emotions cross those impossibly bright sky coloured blue eyes, as his own emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

The moment was broken as Peter took a deep, gasping breath like that of a drowning man surfacing from the depths, then shot upright only to bend over, arms clutching his stomach protectively.

Edmund watched in dismay as his brother seemed to choke on his own breath, his limbs shaking and shuddering with spasms as his body moved for the first time in days. Dust and tiny shards of ice littered the floor, and Edmund instinctively grabbed his brother's shoulders with a hand on either side and forced him carefully upright.

Peter raised his head, and their eyes met once again, Peter's now cloudy with moisture, before his brother ducked his head out over the side of the dais and began to retch violently.

Cifel jumped back in alarm, as Edmund moved to support his brother's upper body as he dispelled all the congealed liquids which had accumulated in his 'absence'. Cifel wrinkled his nose as Edmund shifted his weight to place a hand on his brother's chest, and another rubbing comforting circles absently on his back, just as their mother used to do when they were young.

As the spasms passed and Peter stopped throwing up, Edmund helped him back into a sitting position on the stone dais, wiped his older brother's mouth with the edge of the discarded navy cloak then wrapped it tightly around Peter's shoulders, trying to ignore the tremors which still ran through his brother's lanky form. He rested his forehead against his brother's temple and breathed in the scent that was distinctly Peter, drawing comfort from his older brother's presence even as he gave Peter some of his own.

He then looked up to meet Cifel's still unmoved gaze.

"Satisfied, oh great Guardian? I would kill you if Peter didn't need me, you know."

Cifel chuckled darkly at this, the sound echoing around the small chamber and clashing horribly with Peter's harsh, shuddering breaths. There was a moment of quiet.

"I must confess, Son of Adam…I am impressed. Although, I beg to differ on your violent intent. I doubt you would get within three feet with such negative thoughts."

He moved to the centre of the room once again, drawing himself up and folding his arms across his chest, head cocked slightly to the side, studying Edmund and Peter with an unreadable gaze.

"Unconditional love, sealed with an unabashed kiss. It was the final part of the bond to break the spell. Selflessness, willing even before loss of dignity…strength which was born from more than simple determination."

Cifel gave a small, weak smile.

"For that is the way, the only way…as the poem states…to win the well fought fight."

Edmund's hand clutched his brother's shoulder even tighter at these words. They had already given so much to war…were there yet more battles to be fought, more blood to be shed? Their blood?

"And now, Edmund, Son of Adam and Knight of the Realm, I must leave you for a moment. You have a long journey ahead of you, and it shall do no good to be ill prepared."

"What? Journey? Hey, wait!"

But Edmund's confused protest was lost as Cifel left the room in whirl of grey and blue, and disappeared up the steps of the crypt and into the pale light above. Edmund glared after him for a moment, when Peter began to cough again.

"Are you…" what didyou say to a person who was practically back from the dead?

"Are you okay, Peter?"

Peter managed a small nod, which sent a cloud of dust and frost particles flying in a shroud all around them, and Edmund sneezed, smiling weakly and rubbing his nose.

"Bless…you…"

Peter rasped out, and Edmund was so pleased to hear his voice again he forgot to glare at him.

"Thank you."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Edmund chuckled weakly at the simple oddity of the situation. Peter did too. Then they faded, Peter's turning into spluttered coughing, and Edmund's into choked sobbing.

There was no need to express their relief, their joy, their fears and their pain to each other. They reached out together as though of one mind, and embraced tightly, clinging to each other as though each felt the other would vanish if they were ever to let go.

And so they sat there in the cold crypt on a hard stone dais, two children trembling and weeping in fear and despair and relief, and a myriad of other emotions some of which have not even been named. And they faced their fears together, united, and felt no shame in their tears, as their only witness was each other.

And perhaps a small patch of delicate blue flowers, peeping through a crack in the paved floor in a far corner.

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Cifel re-entered the crypt silently, sparing only a brief glance at the two humans who were now attempting to suppress their pathetic human emotions through meager comfort. He suppressed a snort, uncomfortable in disturbing them regardless. Besides, he had other things to concern himself with.

Two traveling cloaks, food parcels, drinking pouches, two belts, traveling packs, one change of clothes each, and the two swords he had retrieved from the restricted section of the armory. He admired these two particular items with reverence. Obviously dwarf made, fine wrought blades, engraved with some sort of ancient poetical nonsense. Not that the Son's of Adam could read it anyway, so what did it matter? Well, it looked pretty, Cifel supposed…dwarves were queer folk…

He sighed. What was he, the human's temporary mother, or something? How the little runts were expected to save the entire country was beyond him. He hadn't seen anything special so far which could convince him otherwise, apart from that they had an ability to feel emotions and use them to their advantage, and had great team spirit. That would not be enough to defeat the witch.

'But, perhaps with your help, they could.'

Came a little voice of what was left of his conscience, which sounded disturbingly like Aslan. Cifel growled to himself, breaking the two Son's of Adam out of their reverie. He was beyond such things. He had made that decision long ago.

Reluctantly, Cifel turned to address the two human's, the youngest of which was helping the eldest off the stone dais to stand upright on the floor. He noted with more than a little smugness just how much shorter Edmund was in relation to Peter. He gestured down at the items laid neatly in a pile at his feet.

"This is all you will need; there is a side gate on the left side of the courtyard, hidden by the stone giant's feet; it is unlocked, and leads straight to a rough path which eventually comes to a steep flight of stairs downwards. Wait at the top of the flight for the sun to fully set and then get across the frozen lake as fast as you can. Here…"

He rifled in his tunic, and pulled out a small, folded slip of paper, which he shoved forcibly into Edmund's free hand, as the other was holding his brother upright.

"This is a rough map of Narnia. The dotted lines are the newly erected borders of the witch's realm."

He held up a hand to stall any interruptions.

"There is not time to explain now. Keep to the edges of the mountains to the East, then cross them by the coast. Walk along the cliff by the shore beside Owlwood, then veer diagonally West past Cair Paravel, and you should come to the river. See the meander, and the small stream which breaks off from it? That stream will lead you straight back to your camp."

Edmund looked at him seriously, dark eyes seemingly absorbing all the information and analyzing it carefully. Eventually, he spoke.

"I don't know whether I can trust you, Sennjan, or Lucifel or whatever, but right now we have no choice. We cannot stay here."

Cifel was taken aback. He had expected an outburst, not quiet acceptance. He brushed off his surprise and continued.

"One last thing. See these?"

He held up two small glass vials, one with a misty grey coloured liquid, and the other with a pale leafy green.

"The cloud coloured one is a medicine, of sorts. It will help your brother recover his strength. And this…" he smirked, as he placed them both down beside the traveling packs "…well, it contains all the supplements plus a little extra which you'll need to grow taller, and fast. Seriously kid, you can't protect your brother with that height disadvantage."

Edmund spluttered indignantly, and Peter suppressed a small smile, feeling any more effort wasted on a bodily function which wasn't essential could be his last for a while.

"Just whose side are you on, anyway?"

Edmund burst out, eyes narrowed, surveying the pile of items on the floor and Cifel with an affronted glare.

Cifel smirked as he casually turned on his heel and headed for the steps, throwing his answer over his shoulder as he did so.

"Why, mine, of course."

And he was gone.

There was a pause.

"Can we trust him?"

Peter's voice was thin, but steady. Edmund calmed himself and bent down to inspect the items on the floor, handing the largest belt to his brother, who put it on without question.

"No." he said, sighing. "But we have no other choice."

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**A/N: PHEW, this was a long chapter to write…I'm exhausted. Congratulations to Tamed Chaos, CryinCindyLouWho, Capegioand Argentus, who all correctly guessed which biblical reference Cifel is related to. However…now you must all ponder just what could happen in order for him to live up to that reference…or what has already happened… (smiles knowingly)**

**Aw! The cuteness…I've gotta go eat more sugar before my fluff energy runs out…next chapter, Edmund and Peter enjoy the wonders (and handicaps) of brotherhood, Susan and Lucy wonder at the curses of puberty, Aslan reminisces and explains the whole back story in the process, and Edmund discovers he has absolutely no sense of direction.**

**I personally am very glad to have some normal interaction from Edmund and Peter. All the angst was getting a bit overbearing…but have no fear, angst fans! There will be much, much more to come, very soon…(thinks evil thoughts)**

**Do a fellow human a favour! Please review!**


	15. Chapter fifteen

**A/N: WARNING: I am going back to school tomorrow, so the updates may become sparser. Have no fear, though! I intend to finish this story if it kills me…I'm already ignoring an essay on Liberal Reforms in order to write this (hmm…fanfiction or Liberal reforms? Now that's a toughie…)**

**Thanks to everyone who keeps answering all my prediction questions! It is very interesting for me as an author to see how my reader's minds work. And keep up the reviewing! You people are so good to me…(gets all emotional)**

**To Shauna: Wow, long review! Don't worry, Peter will get his turn to worry about Edmund…I have something VERY special planned for our much loved former traitor (grins) and yes, Edmund did wake Peter with a kiss, but it wasn't anything weird, it was just on his forehead. Like I've said before, this fic is neither slash nor incest. Brotherly love is just too cute!**

**To everyone: You people are way too smart! You keep picking up on my (supposedly) cunningly concealed foreboding hints…damn…I'm going to have to be more subtle next time…**

**This chapter is a little more easygoing than some of the others. Fluff, humour and a light tiny weeny sprinkle of angst. Enjoy!**

Chapter fifteen

It was unnaturally still, and quiet. Even though the frost had thawed, and the castle was now surrounding by a glistening, peaceful lake, nothing moved. It seemed as though they were the only two living creatures in the world, in all the worlds, as they sat, and waited. The lake was so still it appeared to be made of glass, and shone like a mirror. Edmund and Peter sat just outside the side door, which was now closed and bolted behind them. On their left was a very steep, very narrow flight of steps leading down to the side of the small jut of land which connected the island to the mainland.

Edmund shivered despite the warm spring breeze, which rose high over the turrets of the castle and swirled about them, and pulled his traveling cloak closer around him. He could feel his back protesting from being leant against a hard stone wall for so long. Peter shifted slightly, turning to give him a questioning look, and Edmund shook his head in answer.

"It's nothing. This is just…unnatural."

Peter stared out, eyes following the jagged curves of the landscape to the East. He gave a small cough, wincing as his sore throat protested to the movement, and spoke without turning to look at Edmund.

"We have to…cross those mountains?"

He asked quietly, barely above a whisper. Edmund fumbled in his pocket and retrieved the small folded slip of paper Cifel had given him. He held it out to Peter, who took and glanced over the paper, smoothing it out as he did so.

"It's a long way."

It was more of a statement than anything else, and Edmund frowned. Something was very…wrong, with his older brother. Peter had never been overly cheerful, but he had always been at least enthusiastic about…well, everything. He was generally a positive person. Peter was pale, his eyes dulled, and he seemed…detached. He would stare off into the distance, and Edmund knew he was seeing something which he himself could not.

"Peter?"

Peter jerked slightly, as though waking from a deep sleep, and his eyes focused sluggishly on Edmund as though he was surprised to see him there.

"Yes?"

Edmund bit his lip, unsure how to put his concern into words without raising Peter's guard. His brother closed up if he ever thought someone perceived him as weak, or vulnerable. He always had to be the strong one, the one in control, and a few weeks ago Edmund would have hated him for it. Now, though…he felt he understood, just a little.

Peter was afraid. Afraid that if he wasn't always strong, in control, then…who knew what could happen? His brother had spent his whole life trying to be strong, but not for himself, as Edmund had once believed. For them. For his brother, and sisters. And Edmund could hardly blame him for that.

"Nothing…just…here, drink this."

Edmund handed Peter the small, cloudy liquid filled vial which Cifel had given him, slightly apprehensive of just what it would do. Could they really trust Cifel? But there was no reason to go to all the trouble of getting them this far only to re-capture them.

Sighing resignedly, Edmund also retrieved the lime green coloured vial, and the two brother's shared a glance before both taking a small sip in unison.

They waited.

Nothing.

"Did it work?"

Edmund shrugged, took both bottles back and placed them in one of the pockets of his traveling pack, wondering how long their supplies could last. If they could only get over the mountains quickly, then there would be plenty of food and water on the coast and in the woods.

Peter winced and rubbed his chest, a burning sensation filling his lungs. He coughed dryly, a shuddering wrench which penetrated deep within his chest. Edmund got up onto his knees and placed a hand on Peter's back, concerned.

"Peter? You alright?"

Peter smiled weakly, attempting to reassure Edmund, but then bent double, clutching his chest with a barely concealed grimace. He coughed again, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the noise, and then straightened carefully to give Edmund an apologetic look.

"M'okay, Ed. I'm alright."

Edmund's eyes narrowed, and he clutched his older brother's shoulder convulsively.

"Don't. Don't lie to me like a child. I'm stronger now. I can help you."

Edmund kneeled on the hard ground, both hands on Peter's shoulders. He had to get through to him. If this went on, they would only argue, break apart. And they couldn't afford to. Peter was not strong enough for that. Not yet.

"Please, Peter. Let me help."

Peter stared at him, still breathing deeply. Edmund had changed. He sounded so like his father, and he felt his heart clench. He had spent his whole life hidden behind a mask of strength; his need to protect his younger siblings had always been all he needed. And yet…now it seemed they didn't need protecting anymore. What was he then? Just something to be simply tolerated?

Or would Edmund simply return to him the strength he had given him, over the years? His father…his mother…his family…

He was so very tired of being strong…

He felt as though they were slipping away. Susan, and Lucy, and Edmund. They were growing up, moving away from him. He felt a sudden desperation, which he had suppressed ever since Edmund first betrayed them. They were leaving. He didn't want to be useless, didn't want to be left alone.

And suddenly, he was clutching Edmund to him like a child, and shaking violently. He tried to stop himself from dryly sobbing, and choked on his own breath, beginning to cough once more. Edmund embraced him around his back, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to calm his brother. Peter had always been strong, always been his protector. Now he was finally paying the price. And Edmund knew he had a debt to repay.

Is this what responsibility truly is, he wondered? To feel such strength, such fire, course through your veins? It was powerful. It was addicting…but all the fire went out as he felt his brother tremble and shake, his strength seemingly replaced only by an empty, cold despair.

"Edmund…"

Peter refused to allow the tears to fall, instead allowing the pain to tear at his insides, even though he felt if he had to endure any more pain he would die without the aid of a sword.

"It's so cold…"

He turned dull blue eyes on his brother.

"I'm so cold…"

Edmund tightened his arms around his older brother, and pulled him back to rest against his chest, rocking them both slightly; his forehead resting against his brother's hair. They were both so tired; they had no more strength left to give.

"I know, Peter." He murmured, recalling a small boy he had rocked once before, on a beach in a faraway dream.

"I know."

And as night fell, they simply sat there, drawing comfort from each other as they waited for the darkness to blanket the surrounding landscape, and provide a suitable façade under which they could execute their escape.

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Meanwhile, as he had meticulously planned and predicted, Cifel was gleefully reaping the reward for his treacherous actions.

"How DARE you! How did you defy the deep magic, you celestial scum!"

Cifel smirked and lazily slapped the tip of her blade away, standing and brushing his clothes off idly, before answering.

"I was never under your control, fool. It was a necessary step I had to take to fulfill my orders."

"Orders! From whom? Speak, and I shall spare your life!"

"Sufficed to say it was not in my interest to allow the sons of Adam to escape."

The witch's face paled even further, and she raised the blade once again to rest against the exposed skin of Cifel's neck.

"Then why, pray tell…" she said, softly, scathingly "did you do such a thing?"

Cifel shrugged, and cocked his head to the side in an infuriatingly confident, carefree manner.

"Obviously to annoy you, my dearest witch."

The sound of flesh impacting on flesh resounded around the high ceiling of the hall, and Cifel reached up to his cheek to idly brush the blood away. He sucked his fingers while watching the witch seethe, repressing the urge to frown at the salty tang the liquid made as it sat on his tongue.

"GALGORUS!"

Cifel sighed exasperatedly. Evil people were always _so _predictable. Did she not think he had planned for that? Cunningly placed the two Son's of Adam under her very nose in the most unlikely place possible? Surely even he was not that good at acting as to have fooled her so completely.

"The humans have escaped, Galgorus. Take your hunters and track them down. Bring them back alive, but I care not in what condition if they are fixable. GO!"

The great wolf bent his hind legs in a respectful bow, let out a bloodcurdling howl, and bounded past Cifel, snarling and snapping his jaws threateningly as he did so. Cifel raised an eyebrow skeptically and rose to his feet once more, watching them go with his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Honestly, don't you ever order your pets to take a bath once in a while?"

He leapt backwards, and her outstretched hand met with thin air with an ominous whistling sound.

"Thought not…"

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The doors to the palace flew open with a resounding crash, and swung far out over the sides of the sheer cliff leading down to the surface of the lake. What seemed to be a swarm of shadows poured out, bounding down the wide flight of stairs and across the bridge of land. Then, the large party split into two groups, one heading East, the other West, and faded into the darkness, their howls and the pounding of their feet growing fainter.

Edmund and Peter crouched on the small parapet, peering round the corner of the castle wall to watch the proceedings. When all was quiet again, they still stood for a moment, unsure of how best to continue. Eventually, Peter sighed softly, and turned to begin gathering his things; adjusting the cloak around his shoulder and hoisting the pack onto his back. Edmund did the same.

They descended the stairs in silence, keeping as low to the ground as they could. Edmund went first, and several times he lost his footing and Peter had to grab him from behind. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were both breathing heavily, and night had fallen. They could vaguely make out the silhouette of the land bridge, and the dark, still surface of the lake beside it.

They shared a brief glance, then looked behind them, and up at the looming outline of the castle above them. It seemed strange to simply be walking away, without any resistance. Whatever 'distraction' Cifel had had planned, it must have worked well enough.

Peter turned determinedly around, grabbed Edmund's arm and took off, running at an erratic pace across the land bridge. Edmund stifled a yelp of surprise and increased his own speed, feeling suddenly glad for the vial Cifel had given him. His brother's longer legs were definitely an aggravating advantage.

They slowed as they reached the end of the land bridge, but put on an extra burst of speed as Edmund spotted a small cluster of hills. He grabbed Peter's hand and steered them both towards it, his heart pounding in his ears, his breaths coming in uneasy, shuddering gasps.

The two brothers threw themselves down in a small enclave in the side of the nearest hill. It was not unlike the one in which Peter, Susan, Lucy and the Beavers had hidden in so long ago, and although it wasn't very warm, it was the only suitable hiding spot they could see.

They leant against each other, both shaking slightly with adrenaline and fear, although neither would ever admit to the latter. Slowly, their breathing quieted, and they sat in uneasy silence as the night grew colder around them.

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**A/N: FINALLY they've escaped, and I can write in context with something other than a creepy castle. Next chapter, we have an update on the Susan Lucy situation, Aslan reveals more of the back story, and Peter and Edmund get horribly lost. **

**Yes, I know I said all that would be in the last chapter. Sorry! This escape is taking far longer than I planned (sighs) like I've said before, I don't like rushing things. **

**Cifel: Review or I'll make a nasty sarcastic comment about you! (growls)**

**Galgorus: And I'll bite your head off…(manic eyes)**

**Me: (Pets them) Uh…sorry about them. (whispers) There's my good little OC's…**


	16. Chapter sixteen

**A/N: I'm alive! (falls over having run all the way home from school) sorry for the wait. I posted chapter 15 in a hurry because I wouldn't have time the next morning. I can't believe it's only been ten or eleven days since I published this! It feels like forever…but I've enjoyed every second!**

**To Capegio: You are one devoted reviewer! Thanks a lot for pointing out my 'prose' and 'verse' mistake (kicks self) I'll go fix it now…**

**HOLY MOLY! You guys liked the last two chapters a lot…a big thanks to all my devoted reviewers! Your encouragement (and the occasional viewing of the ten minute Narnia trailer) has helped me to write this fic. I hope you all continue to read, and I apologize for my OC's terrible behaviour at the end of the last chapter. I feed them on reviews, you see.**

**Cifel: 00 must…have…reviews…**

**Um…yeah…**

**This chapter is more easygoing than the others. I felt we needed a little light relief between the angst. Seriously, it is necessary…things are going to turn a little nasty for a while…poor Cifel and Edmund…oopsie, shouldn't have said that…**

Chapter fifteen

The next morning, after a night of fitful but thankfully dreamless sleep, both boys faced the newday with renewed strength. They had seen no sign of the pack of wolves which had been sent to find them, and assumed their hunters had veered too far Southeast and were searching for them in the woods. They thanked their blessings, and consulted the map in relation to what they could see of the mountains in the distance.

"See here…"

Peter muttered, gesturing with his forefinger at a small ridge between the two largest mountains.

"It looks like a valley of some kind. It may be a bit risky to go down, we'll have no way out if we're surrounded…but it's the easiest way, and we won't have to go over any of the mountains."

Edmund nodded, and looked up to see the two peaks of the mountains Peter spoke of, hazy but prominent among the others in the distance. Peter shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and frowned.

"From what I can see…it's not on the map, but I think I'm right…there's a sort of semi-circular band of trees outlining where the mountains begin and coming round, beyond the mountain range we're nearest to. If we travel through the valley, we should come out at the southern end right beside the beginning of the trees…"

He stopped suddenly, and squinted down at the map as Edmund leaned over his shoulder to see. Peter opened his mouth to continue, before staring at Edmund for a moment and jumping hastily backwards as though he had seen a ghost.

"What?"

Edmund asked, exasperated. Peter moved back to stand beside him and looked him up and down. Edmund looked down at himself, at a loss as to what Peter was staring about.

"What?"

He asked again, annoyed and frustrated now. Peter placed a hand level with the top of Edmund's head and drew it back in a horizontal line until it came to rest at the bottom of Peter's chin. His eyes widened.

"Edmund, you're…you're taller! I swear you only reached the top of my shoulder yesterday! God, you must have grown two inches overnight…"

Edmund blinked, surprised, and realized that he didn't have to tilt his head at such a severe angle in order to meet his brother's gaze. He stepped back, and a grin began to grow on his face as he admired his new height.

"What the hell was in that thing you drank, anyway, Ed?"

Edmund shrugged uncomfortably, eager to change the subject.

"I see you're not coughing anymore, either. Do you feel better?"

Peter blinked, then nodded, a hand unconsciously going to his throat. He cleared it and then spoke again.

"Yes, much better. Who was that boy who was with you, anyway?"

Edmund blinked. He…truly didn't know how to put it into words. Cifel had said he was a subordinate to the Queen, but that was a lie. Was what he had said about being the 'Guardian of the Realm' or whatever a lie, too? There was no way of telling, he supposed. Edmund turned to Peter and shrugged.

"Not sure. He never actually told me."

He felt a little guilty lying to Peter, but it wasn't as if it mattered, anyway. And Peter didn't need to know everything of what went on at the witch's castle, anyway. Edmund shuddered as he thought of it. In fact, some things were better left unspoken. Edmund wasn't sure Peter was ready to know, and he himself was certainly not ready to tell.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Edmund? You alright?"

Edmund nodded, internally wincing as that look of concern returned to Peter's eyes. This was not what he had wanted. He had resolved to learn to protect his brother and sisters, not cause them any more pain at his hand. It was the last thing he wanted. Even when the witch had offered him the world for them, Edmund had still felt that terrible gnawing guilt in his stomach even as he betrayed them. He never wanted to cause them pain again.

He glanced briefly at a scar which he remembered well on Peter's temple before answering with a wry, but fake, grin which turned out more like a grimace.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

'I gave him that scar.'

He brushed Peter's hand off him, but Peter did not move his gaze away, still looking at him with that concerned look which made Edmund rile with anger and hatred, more at himself than at his brother.

"Stop looking at me like that!"

Peter drew back as though Edmund had physically struck him, as hurt and perhaps even a little despair entered his gaze. Edmund wished he knew what his brother was thinking. Was he blaming himself, just like Edmund was, for everything that had happened?

"Sorry."

He muttered, moving to stand beside his brother once again and taking the map from his hands, trying to ignore the confusion Peter obviously still felt.

"You were going to show me something?"

Peer took a deep breath, reluctant to let the matter drop, but turned his attention too back to the map.

"Oh, yes. See here? That's where the battle took place."

There was an uncomfortable silence as they both stared at the map, thinking, and neither sharing their thoughts for fear of hurting the other.

Edmund cleared his throat.

"Well, no use standing about. We'd better get going."

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Lucy brought her arm back once again, eyes narrowing and focusing only on the small yellow dot in the very centre of the archery board. Her arms ached. Surely the red section was close enough?

But it could make the difference between giving her enemy a shoulder wound, and spearing them in the heart, never to recover.

With this thought, she tensed, then lashed out, allowing the blade to fly skillfully from the end of her fingers. There was a resounding thud, and Lucy eagerly shielded her eyes from the sun to see if the dagger had reached its goal.

The very edge of the yellow section.

That was good, she consented. Very good. Susan couldn't even get it onto the board…but on the other hand, Lucy couldn't use a bow to save her life. Yes, it was good.

But not good enough.

She moved to run to retrieve the blade, only to find herself held back by a hand on her arm. She turned, slightly frustrated. She was close now, very close, to being ready.

"Lu? Do come back."

"No! I'm nearly there."

Susan looked to the archery board, at the dagger so close to being dead centre. She sighed, tossing her head as her hair flew into her face.

"Lucy, you've been out here for hours. It's almost sunset. Please, come back to the camp. They're serving supper soon."

Lucy wrenched her arm out of her sister grasp, glaring up at her, eyes narrowed. She wasn't a child anymore. She decided what she did, and when.

"How can you think of food at a time like this!"

Susan sighed again, exasperated.

"Time like what?"

Lucy gave Susan an incredulous look, which despite her height, stirred something in Susan's stomach. A terrible weight. She swallowed thickly, took her sisters arm once more and began steering them both back down the hill.

"What are you doing! I have to get it right, I'm nearly there! And then I'll-"

"What possible good will it do, Lucy?"

Susan cut across her, her voice rising and her hand tightening around her little sisters arm.

"For when Peter and Edmund-"

"THEY COULD WELL BE DEAD! When have we ever been given a reason to trust the witch! What if they're dead, and lying in some ditch somewhere, while we sit back here and do nothing! What if she attacks, what then? We'll all die…"

Lucy, aghast, reached up on tiptoe and soundly smacked her sister around the face with all the strength she could muster. She watched in desperation as her Susan clutched her reddening cheek, her face hidden by her hair.

And then she began to shake.

Lucy stared for a moment, then put her arms around her sister's middle, and they both sank to the ground, clutching each other, Lucy trembling too, from exhaustion, and from the effort it took not to cry.

"Yes, Susan, we will all die. But there's still a chance! There's still hope…I feel that, somehow, we would know if they were dead."

Susan looked down in surprise at her sister. It seemed even as Narnia had changed Susan for the worse, it had changed Lucy for the better. She smiled weakly. Well, at least the whole journey hadn't been for nothing.

"Yes, Lu. Of course, you're right."

She wiped her eyes furiously, frowning and feeling embarrassed at her moment of weakness. Then she chuckled wearily, taking Lucy's hand and leading her over to the board, and stopping to admire the protruding blade which was now sunk almost to the hilt into the centre.

"Come on, I'll get my bow. There's still a few minutes left before sundown."

And Lucy smiled.

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"Hey, Ed?"

An hour had passed, and they had reached the small forest which obscured the decline which indicated the beginning of the valley, between the two mountains. And Peter was absolutely positive he had passed that tree before…at least twice. He watched as his younger brother turned from his perusal of the surrounding landscape, and smiled sheepishly.

"Uh…yes?"

Peter gave him a stern, yet somewhat amused look.

"Are we lost?"

Edmund almost fell over in surprise and indignance, and clutched the map which he had been using to lead them to his chest in subconscious defense of his bruised pride.

"We're not lost! I just temporarily misplaced my bearings, that's all."

Peter sighed and rolled his eyes, while Edmund shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"That's not the only thing that's misplaced..."

Edmund whirled about, eyes narrowing but his eyes twinkling with barely hidden mirth.

"What are you implying?"

"How about your brain, oh high and mighty grown taller but no smarter little brother of mine?"

"Why you…!"

And they were off. Edmund tackled Peter to the ground, and Peter yelped, before recovering and swinging his knees around to knock Edmund's legs from under him, sending him sprawling to the forest floor. This continued for some minutes, with both gaining the upper hand only to be taken down again by and underhand trick the other spontaneously executed.

Soon they both grew tired, and lay side by side on the now sun warmed forest floor, exhausted but elated. It had been years since they had engaged in a 'play fight', as their mother used to call them, and most entailed happy memories, but sometimes they could turn quite nasty. Edmund could recall one time when he had gotten so angry he had hit Peter round the head with a candlestick. He hadn't realized it had clawed feet, his anger had clouded his judgment so.

He still had the scar. He glanced at it again, clear as day on his brother's temple, and shivered.

But he hadn't meant to hurt him, it was an accident!

He said that then, too. But his betrayal of them, all of them, had been no accident. He had nobody to blame but himself, and nobody was punishing him more for it.

Edmund felt his heart sink. Was everything good always doomed to have something bad to contrast? He turned his head to look at Peter, who was looking contentedly up at the sky. Yes, it was still there. The tiniest of faint white lines, no thicker than thread, but it stood out to Edmund more than any bruise could. Running from just above Peter's ear to where his chin began.

Edmund swallowed thickly, and schooled his face into a look of contentment which mirrored his brother's. Peter sat up, picked the map off the ground where it had fallen during the tussle, and consulted it.

"We should probably head South. The witch's castle was to the North of the camp, so it'll probably be our best chance."

"And run into Maugrim and his flunkies? No way. I say we take the long way round and go…" Edmund glanced about, frowning, before his eyes lit up and he took a step in one apparently random direction "…this way!"

Peter sighed, and grabbed his brother's shoulder, halting his planned mad dash down the bank leading to the bottom of the valley.

"Edmund, when you will you ever-"

Edmund rolled his eyes and completed the unfinished exclamation.

"-learn to do as I'm told? When I deem it necessary."

Peter scowled at him, and folded his arms in an uncharacteristically childish manner.

"I was going to say 'listen to me', but that works too. God, I might as well give up…"

"Well, it would save us both some trouble…"

Edmund yelped as he was cuffed upside the head, and pouted before joining his brother in a chorus of light laughter.

"Anyway, let's get going!"

"Oh, by the way…"

Edmund halted, turning to look questioningly at Peter as he spoke.

"Maugrim is dead. I killed him."

Edmund nodded, relief entering his gaze.

"Oh, good. He was a slimy little bastard, that one."

"Ed!"

"What? It's true."

"Just…watch your language, that's all. Mother wouldn't want us to become delinquents the moment we leave her sight."

With the sobering thought of what their mother would say if she could see them now, Edmund bounded down the steep bank, meandering skillfully between the thicket of trees, and Peter let out a shout of protest as he followed; before slamming into his younger brother's back as Edmund suddenly stopped abruptly.

"Uh…which way were we heading, again?"

Peter groaned.

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**A/N: Wow…loooooooong chapter. Oh dearie me…all that pent up emotion is NOT going to do Edmund any good…ah, the wonders of angst! Peter and Edmund are such fun to write! Their banter is inspired by real life…my own brother can get lost in a single corridor with no doors…pathetic, really but I love him all the same!**

**I know this was not as angsty as previous chapters, but bear with me. An author needs light relief before she embarks on her next angst shipping…**

**Cifel: (grits teeth) Review, _please?_**

**Galgorus: Must…maul and devour…reviews…**

**(Laughs nervously) Yeah…review before they decide to eat me instead…**


	17. Chapter seventeen

**A/N: School very nearly killed my love for literature, but here I am, continuing with my only joy left in life…(I know, I am a very sad person) so anyway. SORRY for the wait, but I had to finish my bastard History essay before I could write this. Thanks to all who reviewed!**

**To Capegio: Yes, you can have a cookie. As for the fanart…it's your choice. I don't mind! Cifel does look almost completely human apart from the red eyes and pale skin. Why not pick a scene with Cifel and Edmund? I myself have drawn sketches of all three of the boys, along with Galgorus, and let me tell you, drawing armour is a bitch. But I am honoured you want to do a fanart! Do I get to see it? (gets all excited)**

**To coolmarauders: My God, Cifel has a fan…**

**Cifel: WHA?**

**WARNING: Vivid descriptions of post-torture and some violence. If you're a bit squeamish, I would suggest skipping the first and last section. It's not that bad, but I felt a little disturbed and I'm the one writing it…**

Chapter seventeen

It hurt.

It wasn't supposed to hurt.

He was a superior being, a guardian of the realm. Nobody could make him feel, make him hurt. Yet he did. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact he was lying in a pool of congealed, cold blood. It was sticky, and clung to him like tar. He didn't want to lick it off, send it back down into his body. He made a vague movement as if to send it flying away, and watched in fascination as his arm, which was hanging off his shoulder at an awkward angle, gave a slight twitch then went still at his order.

He let out a soft growl of frustration, and felt along the length of bone for a shard, or break. He found none. He touched the shoulder, and fingered the gap between where ball and socket were supposed to meet.

He snapped it back into its rightful place, feeling the bones grind and splinter under the pressure. It would have to do. He could always mend it properly, once he was stronger.

Yes…he just had to regain his strength, that's all. There was nothing else wrong with him. What possibly would be? He had forgotten how to feel.

So why did he hurt so much?

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Peter jerked awake with a soft gasp as something jarred his side. His head span, and he squinted as the dim light of dawn made his eyes ache. He shook his head from side to side to dispel the wispy mantle of sleep which dulled his senses, and attempted to raise himself up onto his elbows.

Only to find his left arm was trapped under something very solid and moving, and was rapidly becoming numb with lack of circulation.

He reached up with his free right hand to rub at his eyes, before glancing down only to wince as his left side, in the area of his stomach, was viciously assaulted once more. He frowned in groggy confusion as what he now identified as a rather blurry view of his younger brother jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow as he turned in his sleep.

"Hmmm…Ed?"

His voice was quiet and coarse, and he coughed slightly, clearing it and carefully rising to his knees, arm still clutched in a painfully tight grip by both of Edmund's hands. Peter sighed exasperatedly, but smiled fondly, feeling slightly nostalgic. It had been years since he had awoken to find his little brother buried in his side, having somehow moved from his own room all the way across the house to clamber into Peter's bed.

But it had only been when the nightmares had struck.

Edmund had always suffered such things, since he was a very young child. He was a light sleeper, and had a very active imagination. These two combined meant that many nights the Pevensie family would be woken by a hoarse scream in the middle of the night, and rush to their youngest member's side. Lucy hadn't yet been born, then.

After about two years of this occurrence almost three times a week, more often than not, their Father had had a very serious talk with Edmund about what precisely he was so afraid of. Edmund had either not known, or was reluctant to tell. Peter remembered eavesdropping on the conversation outside the door, listening to their father berating Edmund for being so childish, and that 'a problem shared is a problem halved'. Their father always said things like that.

That night, Edmund had been so terrified he refused to go to bed. Their mother had begged him, their father had dragged him into his room, kicking and screaming, but he only ran back outside as soon as their father let him go. Eventually, their parents had decided to let him face his penance for his 'tantrum' alone, and left the door to his room open in case he changed his mind. Peter had heard him wandering around the house for hours, before finally settling at the top of the stairs.

Peter couldn't bear the thought of his brother sitting shivering, cold and alone, at the top of those steep, shadowed stairs. So he got out of his own warm, cosy, quilt covered bed, and went to join him.

They had sat in comfortable silence for hours, and slowly, Edmund stopped shivering, and began to grow tired. Peter could still remember his little brother leaning his head against Peter's shoulder and closing his eyes. And Peter had smiled for the first time in months.

Their parents found them the next morning, curled up together in a bundle, precariously close to the top of the stairs. After that, almost every night Edmund would creep away from the shadows which plagued his sleep, and cling to his brother until their malice was vanquished by Peter's warmth.

But that all changed when Lucy was born. Edmund was no longer the youngest, no longer needed such protection. Peter had woken on the morning of Lucy's birth, cold and alone, and felt that perhaps it had been he who was more dependant on his brother needing him than Edmund's actual need of him.

But as long as they did still need him, even if by the tiniest bit, he would be there. Beyond that…he didn't know what was left for him.

"Peter…"

Peter was jerked back to his senses, and looked down expecting to see his brother's dark eyes staring back at him. But Edmund's face was hidden, his arm flung over his face, and he tossed in his sleep again, moaning. Peter frowned, and reached out his right hand to carefully pull Edmund's arm away from his face. It was scrunched up like a child's, as though in pain.

"Edmund?"

"…Peter…? No…"

Peter frowned. Edmund hadn't had a nightmare in years. Not since he was about four years old, when Lucy was born. Why had they suddenly returned? What was it that happened, at the witch's castle?

And more importantly, why wouldn't Edmund tell him?

"Edmund. I'm right here. Wake up."

Peter kept his voice at a level of forced calm. There was no use in two of them growing jittery, it was the last thing that would encourage Edmund to wake up. He placed a hand on each of his brother's shoulders, and shook him gently.

"Ed, I need you to wake up now. Come on, we've got a long day ahead of us."

Edmund turned towards him, fisting his hands in the thin cotton of Peter's sleeve. Peter shook him again, harder this time, pushing the poisonous panic down to the very pit of his stomach.

"Ed, _wake up_!"

Quite suddenly, Edmund convulsed and shot upwards, letting out a strangled scream of something intelligible as he did so. He was trembling violently, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, his skin clammy and pale. Peter put a hand on his chest, halting Edmund's frenzied attempt to jump to his feet.

"Edmund, look at me."

Edmund's eyes took a long time to focus, and when they finally met Peter's own, they widened impossibly and filled with utter shock.

"_Peter!"_

And Edmund had grabbed him painfully hard by the upper arms, staring at his older brother as though he was a ghost; or that he couldn't quite believe Peter was real. He reached up a trembling hand, which hovered just a hair's breadth away from Peter's cheek, before it touched it, and Edmund jerked it back as though he had been hit by an electric shock. Peter blinked, and frowned.

"What is it?"

Peter asked softly, trying to calm his brother, but to no avail. Edmund tore his gaze away from Peter's face and down to his torso, where his shirt was crumpled as though grabbed. Of course, it had been. Edmund had elbowed it several times during his sleep.

"But…this was…"

Edmund muttered, frenziedly probing the soft material at Peter's midsection. Peter grabbed his hand in a gentle, but firm grip, and Edmund's dark eyes slowly raised to meet Peter's china blue.

"Edmund. Tell me. What is it?"

But Edmund shook his head, reaching down to lift Peter's untucked shirt, and froze as he saw the bruise forming there. Peter glanced down, too. It wasn't the worst type of bruise, but it was an ugly purple and blue hue. Peter winced and hissed as Edmund touched it, hastily pulling down the shirt again and clasping Edmund's hands in his own, forcing him to look at his brother again.

"Please, Ed."

"How…how did you get that? It was…there was…so much…"

Edmund shuddered and goose bumps rose up his arms, his eyes falling down to Peter's torso. Peter, frustrated, moved his hands to rest either side of Edmund's neck, tilting his chin up.

"Edmund, _listen to me. _I'm _fine. _It's just a bruise, that's all. You're just a bit rigorous in your beauty sleep. Whatever you saw, it **wasn't real. **Okay?"

Edmund swallowed thickly, but under the influence of his brother's firm, gentle tones, his shaking quelled, and he nodded slightly. Peter sighed in relief, and helped Edmund to his feet as he himself rose, wincing slightly as the bruise gave a nasty throb, and noting with annoyance that Edmund was still only a couple of inches shorter than him, reaching the bottom of his chin. True, he had only grown about two inches, but it seemed a lot.

It wasn't making things any easier.

"Hey, Ed. Can you go to the top of that ridge and see how close we are to the end of the valley, please? I'll get the packs sorted."

Edmund nodded, rubbed his eyes and shook his head to dispel the last clouds of sleep, and hurried off. Peter watched him go, smiling slightly. He was still needed, after all. It was a comforting thought.

Feeling elated, he turned to the packs, bending down and feeling his chest ache slightly as he did so. He coughed slightly to clear it, and hoisted the first up by the strap.

Which instantaneously snapped, sending the pack crashing to the ground. There was the sound of breaking glass, but thankfully, nothing else.

"Oh, bother it…"

Peter muttered, opening the pack and trying to find the source of the smashing sound. He found shards of green and silver coloured glass in a side pocket, and sighed, carefully picking each shard and placing it carefully aside. Well, it was no use crying over spilt milk, as their mother used to say. They could do without, for now. His throat only felt a slight tickle now and then.

He tossed the shards into a nearby clump of bushes, and thought no more of it, even as a small, shriveled snowdrop suddenly snapped stiff as if to attention, and burst into bloom, all traces of greenfly and any other ailments fading from it's now healthy green leaves.

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Lucifel, celestial being and Guardian of the realm, drew his hand back from the creature's chest; it's still weakly beating heart pulsating in his clenched fist. He detested resorting to such methods, but he had no sharp instrument handy to dispose of the creature with. He shuddered in revulsion, and turned away from the wolf's shuddering body, it's terrified golden eyes imprinted in his mind's eye. He let the organ drop from his hand, and raised his hands to study the hot, tar like substance clinging to them.

At least it wasn't his own this time.

He stared back at the witch's castle, looming, silhouetted against the rising run. His lip curled in disgust, and the familiar nauseous detestation rose like a rearing beast in his chest. Narnia was stirring; it's long slumbering hibernation from the plight of evil over. He would avenge his charge, if all else should fail.

"Oh, my poor realm. What has become of us, hmm? Are we truly destined to perish together?"

He smiled bitterly, as a soft, warm breeze caressed his hair and the cold, salty tears running down his trees. All over Narnia, streams crashed against their banks in an angry rile, trees shed their blossom to mirror the tears of their master, and the birds raised their eyes to the heaven and let out an anguished scream. Lucifel felt their strength flow once again through him, their warmth dispelling the long kept winter which had settled in his heart.

And they all wept as his shoulder blades contorted, growing, releasing coal black wings which shed inky coloured feathers sharper than a blade. They fell slowly to the ground, melding with the earth, silencing the cry which all of Narnia uttered. Lucifel crouched, and then shot upwards with an unsteady beat of his new limbs.

He had no time. The Son's of Adam were in grave danger.

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**A/N: What HAVE Peter and Edmund got themselves into? A whole load of trouble, that's what. And what did Edmund see in that dream? As for Cifel, well…it was necessary. For reasons I shall not disclose.**

**For anyone who's wondering, yes, Cifel has wings. He is, technically, an angel. But he doesn't act like it for…certain reasons. Has anyone worked it out yet?**

**Next chapter, we discover just what Cifel is so concerned about, and precisely why it was maybe not such a good idea for human's to walk on two legs. See what you can predict from that information! Any ideas?**

**Cifel+**

**Galgorus: mmm…blood…**

**(Sigh) So yeah, review and maybe I'll go a little easier on my poor little OC's…but at least it isn't Ed or Peter, right? (angst fans shake their heads) guess not…well, fear not! They will have their fair share…very soon…(maniacal laugh)**

**(Cough) Review, if you can find the will in the bottom of your angst loving hearts.**


	18. Chapter eighteen

**A/N: The story is getting a little darker now, mainly thanks to Cifel's violent nature. We're getting closer to the 20's now! I've had to put all my other stories on hold…I keep getting Narnia angst withdrawal and vent my frustration through writing it myself.**

**This chapter was _supposed _to be foreboding, but it didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it too. Oh, well. I might re-write a few things in the near future from this chapter…but for now, here is the prototype…**

Chapter eighteen

"…ten green bottles, hanging on the wall, and if one green bottle should accidentally fall, there'll be nine green bottles, hanging on the wall! Nine-"

Peter lowered himself carefully down the next crevice, using a rickety branch of a birch tree to ensure his safe grounding on the bottom of the valley. He sighed, and glowered at the back of his younger brother's head, as Edmund continued to sing tunefully at the top of his voice.

"-there'll be eight green bottles, hanging on the wall! Eight-"

"Oh, do give it a rest, Ed. Couldn't you-" Peter broke off to choke slightly, hand on his chest. He was quite out of breath, and his voice came out hoarse and unintentionally scratchy. He leant against a tree as Edmund stopped hollering and turned to face him.

"Sing something else, please?"

Edmund frowned at him, then silently opened his pack without explanation. Peter bit his lip, feeling slightly guilty. He knew what Edmund was looking for, and that he wouldn't find it. Sure enough, Edmund soon began to panic, tipping the entire contents of the pack out and searching through it.

Peter watched him, feeling suddenly tired, eyes drooping slightly and vision becoming unfocused. He reached out blindly as the world suddenly began to spin, nausea rising in his stomach, and sat down heavily on a nearby fallen, moss covered log. Edmund's head snapped up as Peter leant his elbows on his knees to quell their trembling, and rubbed his face, resting his forehead on his palm. He closed his eyes.

There was a silence.

Peter's eyes snapped open and struggled to focus on the dark figure now crouched before him, when it contorted into Edmund's concerned face. Peter grimaced, straightening defensively.

"Peter? Are you alright?"

Edmund scrutinized him, reaching a hand up to check Peter's forehead. Peter slapped it irritably away, carefully rising on unsteady legs.

"I'm fine, just a little tired. And thirsty. How much water do we have left?"

Edmund's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Peter piercingly.

"You're lying."

Peter flushed, stiffening further. It was true, he was lying. But Edmund needn't know how he really felt. It would only worry him. And worrying his little brother was the very last thing he wanted right now.

"I told you, I feel _fine!_"

"You're ears have gone red. They always do that when you're either embarrassed or lying. So, logically…"

"Oh, shut up. You sound like Susan…okay, so I don't feel on top of the world. It's not that big a deal. I just need a rest, and some water. And I can easily get those."

Edmund pulled a skeptical face, but went to get the water sack nevertheless. Peter breathed a quiet sigh of relief, as his head throbbed dully. He was just dehydrated, and had a slight cough. It really wasn't that serious. Besides-

"Damn it!"

"Edmund! Don't…_please_, for mother's sake, don't swear."

Edmund ignored him, turning the sack upside down to reveal a certain lack of liquid. He sighed, and glanced about.

"Never mind, I think I heard a stream nearby. It should be clean up here in the mountains, melted snow, you know. I'll be back, and don't you move!"

"Hey! Who died and made you the boss!"

But Edmund had gone, sprinting unevenly back up the valley side to where he had evidently heard the sound of running water. Peter sighed, and carefully sat down in the uncomfortable silence, shivering slightly, though it was not cold. The nausea had passed, replaced by a simple dull thudding pain in his head. He growled slightly, and shook it as though to dispel the pain, but it only pounded worse. He rested his chin on his palm and closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest around him.

He allowed his mind to wander, feeling strangely at ease with the lack of vision, and breathed deeply, smelling the sweet, musty smell which forests always seemed to emit. He smiled slightly as he listened to the light, comforting sounds of small creatures scurrying around in the undergrowth.

Then he frowned, and opened his eyes.

There was an anomaly…something which didn't quite fit in with the rest of the atmosphere. He raised his head and looked around, suddenly clear eyed and alert, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. He had heard something…like the pattering of light rain, drawing closer. But it was too heavy for rain. Like the pounding of many feet on hard packed ground…

"I'm back!"

Peter jumped about three inches off the log, and felt his heart leap in his chest. Edmund had startled him so thoroughly his hand was even halfway to his sword. He glared up at Edmund as said brother rubbed the back of his head and smiled sheepishly.

"Uh…oops?"

Peter huffed, folding his arms indignantly.

"Keep your voice down. We don't want to get noticed."

Edmund snorted in response, gesturing wildly to the world at large.

"Who could possibly notice us here? The trees?"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Oh…yeah. Heh. Forgot about that…but nothing's happened so far. They must be nice trees, otherwise we'd already be wolf bait. Anyhow…here."

Edmund handed him the now brimming water sack, and Peter drank deeply from it, feeling the cooling liquid sooth his parched throat. He offered it to Edmund, who shook his head, but replaced it in it's compartment in his traveling pack with care. Then he straightened, turning to Peter with a mischievous smile, hands clasped behind his back. Peter blinked.

"What?"

"Can you just…close your eyes and hold out your hands?"

Peter stared at him, wondering if it was some sort of prank. Edmund had always enjoyed playing tricks oh him, since they were very small. But Peter always responded in kind. He recalled one time when he had stolen Edmund's new tin soldier which their father had given him, in retaliation for a large spider in his bed, and was holding it far out of reach above his head, laughing. He had refused to return it, and Edmund had grown so angry he had seized a candlestick and hit Peter around the head with it.

It had hurt, too. But Peter hadn't been angry. Just confused. He hadn't realized that their father had told Edmund to always protect the soldier like they would in the real military, and that it was a special good-bye present for when their father went to join the home front. That had been in the first of the wars. Edmund also professed to not realizing the candlestick had such sharp edges.

So Edmund forgave Peter, and Peter forgave Edmund.

But Peter didn't think Edmund ever truly forgave himself.

After all, their mother did say afterwards that if one of the claws had been angled just a little further to the left, the doctor said it could have killed him. And their mother promptly told Edmund this, although it hardly helped matters. Edmund simply avoided Peter for months.

And that had hurt more than the candlestick ever could.

"Hello, Peter? Anyone in there?"

Peter jumped slightly, and nodded, sighing exasperatedly, and closed his eyes. He reluctantly held out his hands, wincing in preparation for the undoubted trick about to be played on him.

There was a short pause.

"Stop acting like I'm going to hurt you! You _know _I wouldn't."

Another silence.

"Don't you?"

Peter nodded silently, fervently wishing he could speak words of encouragement, but he would feel a little silly talking with his eyes closed. He smiled to himself as a thought occurred to him.

"As long as it's not a big, hairy spider, I don't mind."

Edmund laughed a little stiffly, but with genuine amusement, and Peter suppressed a flinch as something soft dropped into his outstretched hands. Peter opened his eyes and glanced down.

Sitting comfortably in his cupped hands was a small posy of brightly coloured blue flowers, with small yellow shades in the centre of each. Tiny closed buds were scattered here and there, and it was tied with what looked like some string from a brown paper package.

Peter blinked, and fingered the delicate petals with a confused, but touched, expression on his pale face.

"What's this in aid of then, Ed?"

Edmund smiled knowingly, and helped his brother clamber off the unsteady fallen tree trunk, hand on his arm. When satisfied his older brother could stand on his own, he replied.

"Oh, nothing really. Just returning a favour, is all."

Peter looked at him quizzically, but Edmund only smiled knowingly, and tapped the side of his nose lightly in a conspiratorial, mysterious manner. Peter laughed lightly, and tucked the small posy into his pack carefully.

"Oh. Well then, thank-"

And then, all hell broke loose.

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Aslan bowed his head, as a cool evening breeze lifted the tent flap with a gentle hand, and sent small blossoms of all colours and hues swirling around the structure.

He looked down at the token the trees had sent him on the wind's breeze. As it was nearly evening, most of the living creatures were sleeping, so he supposed the trees had not wanted to disturb the night by rousing suspicion.

He nudged the three small, coal black feathers with his paw, and immediately felt a great stabbing pain, and then a burning sensation. He sighed, and quickly dispelled the charm, troubled.

This was a grave matter. A grave matter indeed. It could spell disaster for the whole of Narnia, were Lucifel to stray too far from the righteous path.

'Oh my poor, misguided, suffering child. What is to become of us? What will become of this realm, should you fall?'

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Cifel stared down at the disbanded, grey coloured mass streaming below him. The pack had apparently picked up a scent, and were following the trail. He glanced ahead, beating his wings with more strength in order to rise a little, gliding as he mapped out all possible paths ahead.

It was most likely they took the risk of the Ettinsmoor Valley, and judging by approximate physical speed considering they had neither wings nor four legs, they had probably just reached the edge of the forest at the very bottom of the valley. Oh, if only humans had stayed upon all fours!

Sheer rock to the south and the north, a pack of snarling beasts behind, and no escape but a steep incline up a rocky crevice.

Cifel cursed loudly. Damn their lack of foresight! Could they not have seen how many possible attacks, traps and any other God forsaken plans a highly intelligent canine could execute in such a place? Apparently not.

Especially one such as Galgorus.

Cifel put on a sudden burst of speed, intending to meander around a small cluster of mountains in order to veer around to the eastern end of the valley, and provide aid from an unexpected direction…but only if necessary.

After all, if the son's of Adam intended to prove themselves worthy of the thrones in Cair Paravel, they should be able to handle a few smelly doggies.

Just about.

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**A/N: It seems we have an emotional stalemate. Both our boys are reluctant to worry the other, so we have a lack of communication. Sorry to leave Peter and Edmund in such mortal peril! Cliffhangers are an author's privilege, I'm afraid. As for the candlestick story...I thought it would be interesting to see it from Peter's POV.**

**Cifel: (flexes wings while grinning evilly) **

**Galgorus: Fi fi fo fum, I smell the blood of two Finchley men…**

**If you don't review, Peter will cry. Seriously. He's on the brink of emotional breakdown, here…**


	19. Chapter nineteen

**A/N: Alright, alright! Update! Jeez…woah, over 100 reviews! (pops party popper). The story is getting a little darker now, mainly thanks to Cifel's violent nature. We're almost to twenty chapter now! I've had to put all my other stories on hold…I keep getting Narnia angst withdrawal and vent my frustration through writing it myself. **

**He he…I am SO evil…a MASSIVE thanks to all who reviewed! I really appreciate all the encouragements and helpful comments! It is very useful to hear which bits you enjoyed the most…**

**This chapter POV sort of skips about erratically. It may be a little confusing, but it's supposed to make the scene more realistic.**

**WARNING: Massacre and carnage, slight insanity. Literally. You didn't think I'd let up on the angst, did you?**

Chapter nineteen

The world around them erupted into a frenzy of noise. Snarls and howls pierced the solemn quiet, and the foliage was torn apart as huge, arch backed creatures bounded into the clearing, hackles raised. Peter and Edmund found themselves pressed tightly back to back, and both looked down in surprise to find they had automatically drawn their swords, which were clutched painfully tight in white knuckled fists.

Apparently the instinct of war had already been stirred within them.

Peter only felt a numb, cold panic, which somehow didn't penetrate higher than his chest. He felt strangely light headed, and he saw time slow as though his brain was having trouble processing the information which struck him in the face.

They were surrounded. The wolves, ten dozen or so, circled predatorily, and seemed almost to leer with a malicious sadistic intent. As though of one mind, Peter and Edmund both raised their swords with two hands, and although they were held steady, they both shuddered more with revulsion and tension than fear.

After all, grown men fear no evil. Only the evil within themselves.

Peter watched as the largest wolf, a massive, heavily muscled creature, seemed almost to swagger forwards, it's powerful body flexing as it did so. His eyes narrowed, and he quickly maneuvered himself around so Edmund was facing away from the oncoming monster.

"Greetings, _humans._"

The last word was spat, and the wolf's voice was soft and hoarse; but every syllable intoned malice. Peter stared unblinkingly into the creature's eyes, clear blue facing off against deep, sharded gold. China blue blinked, and resurfaced darkened; a stormy grey hue. Both sets of eyes narrowed, and Peter felt his uncertainty flee from him. And he was left with nothing but cold hatred.

"I, Galgorus, Captain of the Secret Police, am here to arrest and escort you by order of Jadis, Queen of Narnia. Will you yield, Son of Adam?"

Peter's lips curled upwards, in what was a perfectly uncharacteristically twisted smile. He slowly raised the gleaming blade which rested so comfortably in his palm, as though it was an extension of his very body. He hardened his resolve as he brandished the sword at the wolf.

"Do you see this blade?"

He saw his father's face, cold and pale, and terrified. He felt the bitter resentment, the hatred towards his killers. He saw Edmund, agony coursing through his dark eyes, as a silvery wand is wrenched from him and he falls like a rag doll. He saw his mother, staring up at him with eyes on the brink of insanity, her strength lost. A shell of a woman.

And felt strong.

"This is the blade upon which Maugrim fell."

His voice sounded so foreign to his own ears. It was soft, and melodious, as though singing some deadly, poisonous song. He could feel Edmund turn to watch him, feel his dark eyes looking at him in confusion, in uncertainty. He reached down with his free hand and clasped Edmund's in his own, their fingers interlocking, and held it firmly.

"Get out of my way," he let the sword fall to a horizontal path, directed straight at Galgorus' heart "**_or I will_** **_kill_** **_you_**."

There was no emotion; no uncertainty, no trace of remorse, and Edmund squeezed Peter's hand in silent question.

Galgorus snarled and tensed, then blinked for a fraction of a second.

And Peter lunged.

He didn't even watch where his blade was going. All he could see was flumes of bloody crimson, swirling upwards like grotesque ribbons, and the petrified howls of the creatures as he tore through their ranks, Edmund clearing the path of remaining opposition behind him.

Their hands were clasped so tightly they could practically feel their bones creak and ache under the pressure.

And then they were running, flying over the ground, tearing and weaving between trees as the erratic pounding of padded feet drew closer behind them, mirroring the beating of their own hearts. Peter stumbled, and almost fell, a pair of jaws snapping at his feet as he did so. Edmund dragged him upright and put on a determined burst of speed, and suddenly he was the one pulling Peter along.

It was like a dream. Their movements seemed sluggish as the world scurried on past, although not uncaring of their plight. Trees seemed to bend themselves out of the way, and then spring back to lash at the oncoming beasts, but to no avail. The wolves were gaining, fast.

They had cleared the edges of the forest; they could see the steep, rocky incline leading up to the top of the valley, and scrambled up. Unevenly stumbling over pointed boulders and sheer, vertical cliff faces. Peter could feel his lungs burning with exertion, and his limbs ache with fatigue. The wolves mimicked their path, led by Galgorus, who bent his powerful hind legs and sprang upwards, jaws widening, then brought them down together with crushing force.

Peter felt his ankle splinter and then shatter under the force of the wolf's jaws, and felt a wave of agony course up his spine. Black spots swirled in front of his vision, and he let out a quiet, almost silent cry of pain as Galgorus used the additional leverage to toss Peter violently to one side. Peter went slack with shock.

And his hand was wrenched away from Edmund's.

He hit the ground with a bone jarring jolt, and his head hit the sharp edge of a boulder with a sickening smack.

He vaguely heard Edmund's terrified shout of his name, then a gut wrenching scream of pain which echoed around the darkness of his fading consciousness. He weakly opened his eyes.

To see nothing but a misty, crimson haze obscuring his vision.

With a last despairing sob that mirrored the anguish tearing at his soul, Peter Pevensie fell into darkness.

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Cifel stood at the ridge at the top of the valley, hidden behind the shadow of a nearby boulder. The sun was setting now, and the valley plunged into a fiery haze. He watched impassively as the eldest son of Adam fell, and almost winced in sympathy as he heard the resounding crack as his head struck the cliff face. He scolded himself briefly, and returned once more to calculated, logical precision.

The youngest son of Adam had blindly made a frenzied attempt to reach his brother, turning away from salvation in the process. Apparently he would rather face death united than escape unscathed. Cifel felt again that gnawing weight in his stomach, but paid it no heed, watching emotionlessly as Galgorus whirled about and sprang once more.

His eyes widened as Galgorus sunk his clawed paws into the human's back, then brought his jaw down over the boy's right shoulder with a vicious grip.

There was a haunting cry, and a scream, and Cifel shivered.

The boy and the wolf both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Galgorus tore away from the boy's shoulder, and it appeared he took some of his prize with him. Even from his vantage point, Cifel could see the blood pouring from the tear, staining the dark cloak a deep crimson colour.

And the boy….Edmund…scrambled back to his feet, hand clutching his shoulder tightly, and continued on his stumbled journey to his brother's limp form.

Cifel blinked, impressed. The pain must be unbearable, especially for a human's heightened senses. He felt a sudden stab of anxiety.

They were only children, after all. Perhaps…

No. They had a duty, he himself had a duty. He had to remain neutral. If these boy's were truly destined to take the thrones of Cair Paravel, they first had to be able to earn it. They would have to face far worse perils than this, were they to become rulers of this country.

And take his place, of course. But he wouldn't yield it without a fight. And he himself was far, far more formidable than Galgorus. Even the white witch.

He smiled bitterly, and leant casually against the cold surface of the boulder, folding his arms. He watched as the pack closed in around the two Son's of Adam, Galgorus pursuing the youngest with arrogant ease. Edmund fell to the ground, apparently defeated at last.

This should prove interesting.

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Edmund was lying still, in an endless sea of black. His limbs would not respond to his wishes, and the dark pressed in on him oppressively. There was nobody here. He was alone. Without pain, without emotion. He was safe.

And cold.

There was a numb, dull ache in his shoulder, but when he glanced down at it he saw nothing but unblemished material. He frowned, and attempted to move it, to no avail. He dropped back against the solid ground far beneath him, and blinked drowsily up at the black.

"I'm not…afraid…Galgorus."

The pain in his shoulder grew. The voices crackled in and out like a broken record, indistinct. A single, familiar tone penetrated his conciousness and sent a sudden stab of fear flaring from the pit of his stomach, coursing white fire through his veins.

And his eyes snapped open.

He was lying awkwardly on his side, leaning against something hard and sharp which was digging into his back. He blinked, as the world before him slid in and out of focus, before settling at a lopsided angle. He lifted his head carefully and winced as his neck gave a twinge of discomfort.

"Pathetic runt. Do you really believe you stand a chance?"

A dull, soft chuckle.

"I killed Maugrim, and he was your superior. It's _you_ who doesn't stand a chance."

Edmund levered himself up onto one elbow, and a sudden burst of agony shot through his upper torso like licking flames. He suppressed a yelp of pain, and bit down on his lower lip hard, feeling the split well with blood and fill his mouth with the bitter, coppery taste. His eyes widened as he craned his neck to look down at his shoulder.

There were two large tears which could be seen sandwiched between deep crimson, soaked slips of jagged material. Smaller punctures littered the upper side, and as Edmund attempted to role his shoulder, he could feel small incisions sting beside his shoulder blade. There was congealed, crusted scabs filling the tears, which were now cracked and letting forth trickles of salty blood due to Edmund's recent movement.

He suppressed the nausea, and bile rising in his throat, clapping a hand to his mouth as his head fell back to the ground with a soft thud. He felt his windpipe constrict, but held it down, clenching his eyes tightly shut.

"And pray tell, how will you bring me down when your weapons are guarded by my soldiers?"

Edmund forced his eyes open, to see the tensed figure of Galgorus a fair few yards away, fur standing on end and hind legs crouched as though ready to pounce. His lips were drawn back in a snarl, hackles raised, his golden eyes slitted and glimmering with a demented bloodlust. Edmund glanced down, to see Peter's sword lying discarded by his side, gleaming dully in the fading light. He raised his head again and followed the wolf's line of sight, and felt his heart leap.

Peter, but it didn't look at all like his brother. He had a horrendous gash on the left side of his head, the blood seeping through his golden hair and staining it crimson. Rivulets of the liquid had streamed down his face and dried like tears on his cheeks. The top of his cheekbone was bruised black and outlined in a sickening blue hue, and his lip was split and scabbed.

He was stiff backed, resolute and emanated sheer confidence. But in his eyes, there was something hidden behind shifting hues of stormy blue. Something Edmund did not like.

Hopelessness.

"I don't need a sword. If need be, I'll snap your neck with my bare hands."

The voice was steady, but trembled slightly with an inner weakness which spoke volumes to Edmund. He blinked, and suddenly the resolve had flickered, then died. Replaced with a flare of terror. The mask had broken, and Peter was nothing more than a frightened child. Edmund recalled a little boy, clutching a posy of flowers, eyes spilling salty, despairing tears from china blue eyes.

And Galgorus advanced, then sprang.

Edmund didn't stop to think; he could see nothing but those wide, terrified blue eyes, and the sadistic, golden ones of Galgorus. He reacted purely from instinct, and somehow, he was on his feet, Peter's sword clutched tightly in his hand. He sped forwards, ignoring the pulsating waves of utter agony rolling across his senses.

Galgorus was going to kill Peter.

Peter was going to die.

Peter . was . going . to . die.

No.

Not while Edmund's heart still beat in his chest, and he drew breath. They had been through so much, come so far. They couldn't just give up hope now.

It would break Edmund's heart if he failed Peter again.

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**A/N: Peter went a little crazy in there. When he was threatening Galgorus, I wanted to convey just how war, and the suffering it brings, changes people. He'll be fine, though. He has reached emotional breaking point, so I wanted to show him going a bit insane as a result of that. Unconventional, but nobody, not even Peter, is perfect.**

**(Jumps up and down in excitement) Oh, this is so great! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Share in the love for Narnia, and give thanks to our highly revered lord, CS Lewis!**

**For details on what precisely is wrong with Edmund: first he was bitten by Galgorus, but it wasn't a clean tear. It ripped half his shoulder off (ouch!), so getting up wasn't the best thing he could have done in his condition. There is also the possibility of infection…ooh, so many choices…Cifel is being a bit of a bastard, refusing to help and all…**

**Cifel: (mutters) I'm good, I'm evil, I'm nice, I'm nasty. Make your bloody mind up!**

**Galgorus: Must…maul…Finchley…flesh…**

**I hope everyone who has been wondering what I had planned for Edmund is happy now. **

**Peter and Edmund: (cower)**

**For every review I receive, I'll give another recovery potion to our boys. And hell, people, do they need them! (this doesn't mean the angst will let up. It merely means they'll be well rested to take another beating in the next chapter…maybe…if you're good, and review…oh, take the hint already!)**


	20. Chapter twenty

**A/N: Extra special treat for you guys! I figured chapter twenty should be especially long to celebrate. Enjoy!**

**Wow, I seem to be killing quite a few of my reviewers…everyone's keeps dying from angst and evil cliffhangers…oh well, that's encouraging, in a twisted way. Strangely, we studied evacuation in History class today, and when asked to state some interesting facts about it, I replied:**

'**Children were sent to big, weird houses with scary professors and normal house appliances leading to parallel symbolic universes!'**

**And my teacher replied:**

'**Much as I like Narnia, ohcEEcho, that wasn't quite the answer I was looking for.'**

**Where is the appreciation! When I become a teacher, I'm going to have compulsory Narnia viewing! I will avenge this insult!**

**Ahem…**

**Well, anyway…**

Chapter twenty

There was a glint of metal, a wispy swishing sound as the blade swung through the air, and a sickening crunching sound.

Then silence.

Cifel let out a low chuckle as he watched the shower of blood rise high into the air above the cleanly cut stump which was all that was left of Galgorus' neck. The head flew upwards, curved in a graceless arc, and hit the ground, rolling to a stop right beside the eldest son of Adam.

Peter extended his uninjured leg to viciously kick it away from him in disgust, apparently with all of his remaining strength, as he slumped to the floor soon afterwards. Cifel laughed out loud as he saw the look of utter revulsion on the boy's face, then his smile fell.

The other wolves, enraged, were closing in.

He sighed exasperatedly, rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms as his wings stretched wide, powerfully carrying him on the oncoming wind of the night. He soared downwards like a grotesque shadow descending, figure hidden in shadow as two sparkling crimson eyes glittered maliciously in the darkness.

Blood would be spilt upon the valley floor tonight.

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Peter sat beside a dozen limp, cold corpses, and found he cared not how, or who, had caused their end. The shadowy figure had left as soon as it had come, and Peter wondered vaguely if it had all been a dream.

But it couldn't be.

Edmund's trembling, unconscious body in his arms was simply too sickeningly real for him to grasp any futile hope that this was some illusion.

He could see nothing but a pair of china blue eyes, instead of dark brown, and a petrified, blood spattered uniform as the full grown man clung to the dream of life. Peter felt as if his heart would burst, as if he would crumble and shatter under the pressure rising in his chest.

But Edmund needed him.

He couldn't save father. Nor mother, from her insanity. Nor Susan. Nor Lucy. But he could save Edmund.

And with that, Peter emptied himself of all emotion and became nothing more than a practical, logical vessel. This gash needed binding. So much blood. Crusted everywhere, pooling beneath them. But it could be stopped. It would heal given clean bandages and regular washing, and everything would work out fine. Edmund would sit up and grin at him, and tell him what a brick-headed idiot he was for worrying so.

Yes. Everything would be alright, as long as they were together.

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"No…can't, won't…I won't yield…"

Peter wiped Edmund's sweat soaked forehead with a cloth he had improvised from ripping the tail of his shirt off. He reached with shaking hands to envelope the soft material with liquid from the water sack, and wrung it out, replacing it on his little brother's head.

He stared hopelessly at the makeshift bandages wrapped tightly around Edmund's shoulder, took a deep breath, and buried his face in his hands, clawing at his cheeks and feeling his eyes sting.

"Wasn't my fault…Peter…wouldn't…no!"

Peter reached out and stroked the dark hair back from Edmund's forehead with a shaking hand, repeating the motion, calming both of them at the same time.

"S'alright, Ed."

He murmured, his voice thick and scratchy, and he coughed deeply, feeling his throat ache and tickle.

"It's okay. You're going to be alright. Shhh."

His voice steadied as he swallowed, and he was stuck by sudden inspiration as Edmund leaned into his hand, and then frowned as Peter stopped talking. Peter blinked, and smiled fondly, recalling how he used to get Edmund to fall asleep after the nightmares struck.

"Oh, yeah. You miss all the stories, then? You used to say they were silly, but you liked them really, hmm? I thought as much. That's okay. I enjoyed telling them, too. I always knew you weren't really asleep, you know. You snore."

He chuckled lightly to himself as Edmund relaxed, his feverish mutterings growing quieter before fading completely, and he shifted slightly in his sleep as Peter continued to caress his hair and talk in soft tones.

"No really, you do. Not terribly loudly, like Nana. You know, I used to think there was a tiger coming up the stairs growling when she came to stay overnight. Seriously, sounded worse than a train's foghorn."

Edmund had stopped shivering, and lay still, his breathing deepening. Peter smiled and watched him as he continued.

"You never did hear the endings of any of the stories though, did you? Well, I'll tell you a secret."

Peter leant down to put his head next to Edmund's ear, and whispered softly as Edmund's breathing evened out completely and his head rolled slowly to the side.

"I didn't either. Fell asleep before I could finish."

He pressed a light kiss to Edmund's temple, and sat up, reaching up to unclasp his ripped cloak to tuck it carefully around his little brother, smiling down at Edmund's face, innocent and relaxed in sleep despite cheeks flushed from fever.

He would think no more of despair tonight. He would still be watching over Edmund when the dawn broke, and they could begin their long journey to the coast.

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Hours had passed. The silence of the darkening wood went undisturbed, the air still as the undisturbed surface of the lake around the witch's castle. Peter sat quite still, unmoving from his quiet vigil at his brother's side.

"Just how do you expect to save this country, if you can't even save yourselves?"

Peter turned slowly to see the boy…Lucifel, if he remembered correctly, languishing upon a nearby fallen log as though it was a jeweled throne. He rested his chin in his cupped hands, and bore a distinctly arrogant, impolitely disinterested expression. Peter studied the other boy closely. He had seen him only once or twice, and it seemed Lucifel changed drastically with each meeting. He considered for a moment, then spoke.

"Last time we met, you were sending us to freedom from the witch's clutches. And now, you seem to feel neither remorse nor pride for that. And now, you sit by and refuse to lift a finger to help."

Cifel stared unblinkingly at him, the smile having left his face. This boy…was very different from his brother. His very aura radiated a desire to understand, yet a balanced will. Strange how even those of one flesh and one blood could become the very antithesis of each other.

After all, Edmund probably would have stabbed him by now, injury or no.

Peter returned his gaze with a clear, unreadable stare of his own, and continued in a polite tone, which betrayed none of his thoughts.

"So tell me, Lucifel, or Cifel, or Sennjan. Which is your true face? And why must you continue to plague us with your deception?"

Cifel said nothing, but stood from the fallen tree, making his way carefully over to stand above Peter, eyes narrowed, staring down ominously with a fiery gaze. Peter, who did not feel inferior despite the fact he had to crane his neck very uncomfortably to look Cifel in the eyes, stood his ground.

"My business is my own, as is my disposition. I would suggest you look to your own, Son of Adam. Continue to pry, and there may be…unpleasant consequences."

It was perfectly even, but the underlying threat did not escape Peter, who remained unmoved and unimpressed. Who was this boy, to waltz in and out of their lives, doing with them as he pleased? Did he think it was all a game, made purely for his amusement?

"So now you're angry? Why? I doubt you even know, do you?"

Peter turned back to Edmund, placing a hand gently on his brother's forehead, brushing his dark hair carefully away from his forehead to feel the rising heat on his clammy skin. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

"Either state your purpose, or leave us. You have no right to play the hand of God. If you come only to spite our helplessness, don't bother. I already fully understand that we have little, or even no, hope. But that's enough for me. And I need no enemy, or indeed ally, to sway me otherwise."

Cifel studied the human's bent form, studying the slumped posture, yet head now raised in quiet, strong defiance. He had to admit, he was…surprised. The boy wasn't simply in denial of the situation, but truly had sincere faith in he and his brother's chances.

"Have no fear, I'll be leaving soon. But your brother needs my aid, lest he die before the dawn breaks. You know this, don't you?"

Peter swallowed thickly, feeling anger rising in his throat, only to be quashed by the sudden wave of cold desperation as he looked down at his brother's again sweat soaked face and flushed cheeks.

"What do you want me to do? Beg? I will, if it'll save my brother. But it'll be my victory, either way. No matter what you do, you will have proved your own weak hearted lack of self respect."

Cifel blinked, and then smiled, raising an eyebrow as he slid to the ground, nudging Peter aside and studying Edmund's pallor with a small frown. Peter blinked.

"Shouldn't you tend to your own injuries first? Your arm…" Peter's eyes widened "what the hell happened to it? It looks like it was twisted right out of alignment…"

Cifel looked vaguely down at his arm, and shook his head.

"You are very observant, but your concern is not appreciated. I don't like to involve myself in other people's business too deeply, it leads to…complications."

"I think you already have, whether you realized or wanted to or not. What are you running from?"

"What…do you mean, son of Adam?"

"Just…my mother, she…she's been running from reality for a long time now. She doesn't have the strength to face the truth, so she hides behind a façade of hope. But you have no hope. You lost it long ago, didn't you?"

Cifel said nothing.

"I know. I can see the hunger in your eyes. Why are you so afraid, when you have nothing to fear but yourself? I would like to know why you are helping us before put my little brother's life into your hands. "

"Fear not. I have no harmful intentions towards either of you; I swear upon my creator's heart, as I do not have one of my own."

Peter looked at him uncertainly, but for the first time, Cifel's eyes were unguarded, and emanated sincerity. Peter slowly nodded, eyes not leaving the face of the other.

Cifel touched the back of his hand to Edmund's cheek, fingering the hastily tied bandages which Peter had applied and tutting slightly, much to Peter's aggravation. He drew back, and reached inside his tunic, retrieving an empty vial not unlike the ones he had given to Edmund at their last meeting. He held it in the palm of his hand and curled his fingers tightly around it, obscuring it completely from view, and clenched it tightly.

When he opened his palm again, the vial was filled with an amber coloured, translucent liquid. Peter watched as Cifel pulled out the stopper and held it above Edmund's slightly open mouth, before tipping it to allow four small drops fall into his mouth.

"Won't he need to swallow?"

Peter asked. Cifel rolled his eyes.

"My powers need no stimulation. It will take effect upon physical contact."

While Peter moved to watch Edmund's face, Cifel unwrapped the ripped shreds of Peter's cloak, now stained a dark crimson, and held a hand, palm down and fingers spread wide, a few inches above the gashes in Edmund's shoulder.

While Peter checked his brother's forehead for signs of the now receding fever, Cifel hastily sent a pulse of warm, healing waves down towards the inflicted area. He watched carefully as the area began to steam slightly, and sky coloured sparks of electric blue magic weaved themselves across the gashes, knitting the skin and mending the bone with a light hissing sound.

"The fever's broken."

Cifel glanced up to an exhausted, weak but joy filled smile colour the boy's previously pale and haggard face. Although he was covered in blood and grime, he suddenly appeared the most magnificently pure, selfless creature Cifel had known in a long time. Unconsciously, he felt a sincere smile at seeing such hope mar his own face, and quickly schooled his features back to impassive disregard. He cocked his head to the side, and grinned lazily as Peter turned to look at him, smile wavering slightly.

" You are a wise, strong and sweet hearted boy. Very much unlike your brother, might I add. But there is nothing left to be done for me, I'm afraid. You see, I died a long time ago."

He looked upwards, letting out a long, slow, breath, eyes closing and lips curving upwards in a bitter smile. After a moment, he lowered his head to look one last time at Edmund's prone form.

"He fought well. And he truly loves you. It causes him more pain than any injury ever could, you know. I do believe he could learn to love this land with the same pure sincerity. At least, I hope so."

He placed a hand lightly on Edmund's shoulder, and Peter looked on in slight confusion as Cifel bowed his head.

"Verily, I salute thee, Son of Adam, Sir Edmund the Just of Heart."

He rose to his feet, gave a slight incline of his head to Peter as he turned.

"I know not whether we shall meet again. I bid you farewell, High King, Sir Peter Wolfsbane, of Joyous Magnificence."

A cloud scurried across the face of the moon, and all the surrounding area was plunged into darkness. Peter stared at the spot where Cifel had last been standing, and continued to look for a long time after the moon shed light upon the darkened wood once again. After a few moments, he exhaled in a long, streaming gust of warm breath which spiraled upwards through the cold night air, and turned his attention back to the still form beside him.

If he hadn't been such a weak minded fool, Edmund wouldn't have tried to kill the white witch. Peter would be dead, and Edmund would probably be safe and warm in the professor's house, with Susan and Lucy, happily growing up in comfort and love.

Without him.

But they didn't need him. Not anymore.

Why would they? He had failed them. Every single one of them. Edmund so much so, he had been led to betray them. He had done nothing but reprimanded and spited Susan, and doubted Lucy's unending honesty in favour of bloody _logic. _

And father wouldn't be dead.

He had _killed _his own father. If he hadn't been there, his father would never have broken cover. Susan, Lucy, and Edmund's father. He was a murderer.

"Oh, Ed_…_"

Peter gathered Edmund into his arms, and clutched his brother's head to his chest, resting his chin on Edmund's dark hair; feeling his heart constrict with innumerable emotions, his hands fisting themselves in the damp, blood soaked material of Edmund's shirt.

"You're such an _idiot…_"

His voice broke with the last word, and he buried his face in his little brother's neck, salty tears mixing and becoming lost within the coppery essence of blood. He rocked them both gently, just as Edmund had done for him, and as he had done before more times than he could recall.

"Why would you risk your life for me? I'm not worth it, I'm…you're…"

His knees gave way, and they both sank to the floor, as sobs wracked Peter's hunched frame, quietly releasing him from his seemingly endless sorrow.

And it seemed as if the world grieved with him, as the first drops of Spring rain began to fall.

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**A/N: Peter finally broke under the pressure. Peter angst imminent, now we've had a lot of Edmund pain. I wrote the end of this at midnight in my room, while I was supposed to be asleep. Then got caught by my mum. She tried to take my notebook away, and now I'm in deep, deep trouble. Ah well. Ironic Synchronity is well worth the pain! Besides, she might have tried to read it… **

**And yes, Cifel is a bastard. I know. I wrote him that way to allow for character development…he's come a long way already. His powers will be explained at some point in the near future.**

**Cifel: (dons brand new wolf fur hat with sadistic grin) I sewed it myself! **

**Galgorus: WTF! You killed me off! You little- (is stabbed)**

**Angst, angst, angst. We all love angst! Disturbingly, I wrote this while listening to 'the best of bond'. I am now convinced at my own long suspected insane mental state.**

**Okay, so Peter's already crying…um…(thinks of possible threats) oh! I'll…uh…kill off mister Tumnus! Yeah. Wait, that's evil! Well then…I'll…do…something…which you won't like!**

**Oh, just review…**


	21. Chapter twenty one

**A/N: Phew…okay, so I am alive and…well…that's all really. My life is sooooo boring. Anywhoo, big thanks to all who reviewed! I hope you liked the extra long celebratory chapter 20. Now for the long, slow slog up to 30! (this could take quite some considerable time…)**

**Meanwhile, be happy, review, and never tell your chemistry teacher you don't find 3 million year old carbon dioxide released from a lump of chalk interesting. Trust me. You'll find out the true meaning of 'spontaneous combustion'.**

**The snowdrop spirit's not a Mary sue nor a main character, so nobody panic. She's just my little plot device.**

**To CryincindyLou: Yes, I know, and for everybody's sake I will state that yes, the title is spelt wrong. 'Synchronicity' is correct, but somehow it seemed a little too long. Also, I wanted it to be similar to 'chronicles' as in 'chronicles of Narnia'. But as it bothers you, I shall change it. Sorry!**

**Anyway…**

Chapter twenty one

Aslan watched as the young spirit timidly dropped to a small curtsey, her petal composed body rippling as though caught in a breeze. She was evidently some sort of flower spirit, as she was not tall enough to be a tree. She was coloured purely white, with small dashes of leafy green here and there.

"My daughter. Tell me what it is which has brought you here."

She nodded, and hesitantly began to speak, her voice tinny and ringing as though it was a bell.

"I lay in a valley among the Ettinsmoor trees, and was plagued by mildew and greenfly. I was dying, my lord Aslan."

Aslan gestured for her to continue as she looked to him for encouragement. Ettinsmoor…the mountain range, far north. What on earth was a snowdrop spirit doing so far away from her birthplace, and in Spring? She must barely be a seedling…

"You must have traveled long and hard, to come so swiftly. I commend you for your loyalty, spirit of the spring. But tell me. Why have you come?"

Her white petals blushed a light peach at the compliment, and she bobbed another curtsey before continuing, her tone more confident now.

"I heard unfamiliar voices, my Lord. Like nothing I've ever heard before. They lilted like a melody, and I rose in my weakness to see a strange, crouched figure kneeling among the grass. He was like a faun, only furless, and he had no cloved feet."

She smiled reminiscently as Aslan's eyes widened, and his thoughts raced with possibilities. Could it be? But if so, how?

"Suddenly there was a terrible sound of smashing glass, and shards of what seemed like diamonds fell all about me. But I felt so queer, my Lord. A warmth like none I've ever felt sped through me, and I felt my strength return."

She paused for a moment, sighed, and went on.

"It was a miracle, sir. And I thought that surely the Great Lion would wish to know of such an event. Did I do right?"

She looked apprehensively at him, eagerly awaiting his response. Aslan, though troubled, managed a small smile.

"You did well, my child. But I must ask you for further service."

Her emerald eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled delightedly.

"Oh, anything, sir!"

"Kindly fetch the daughter's of Eve from the tent beside this one…have you a name?"

She shook her head, white petals dancing about her head. She appeared to be the equivalent of a five year old in human terms, Aslan mused, but had a good heart and an eagerness to learn. Yes, she would serve Susan and Lucy well.

"Then I shall name you Toll, in honour of the warning bells which have long foretold the forthcomings of the world. Will you do me the service of becoming the daughter's of Eve guardian, should they lose their way? To stand beside them, in victory, and in defeat?"

She clapped her hands together in joy, then clasped them and bowed low, before eagerly turning on her heel and dispersing into a flurry of petals and leaves, her tinny voice carrying on the wind as she sped away.

"Oh, thank you, my Lord! I shall protect the daughters of Eve with every speck of life within me."

Aslan smiled, and then faltered. But this was indeed joyous, and yet grave news. There was only one other than he in this realm capable of such 'miracles'. And if he had truly entered the counsel of the Son's of Adam…who had apparently escaped the clutches of the witch, for better, or for worse…there was no telling how this tale of tragedy would find its finale.

Aslan bowed his head, raising his head to the heavens, eyes glimmering with a deep pain in their soft amber depths.

"Oh, Lucifel. Why have you deserted me, my child?"

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It was so warm.

Edmund felt a peaceful contentment which seemed strangely foreign. There was a heavy weight resting against the back of his neck, but it was not oppressive. It was soft and slightly ticklish, and he was comfortable. He let out a soft sigh and shifted in his sleep.

He could smell the familiar scent of home. Musty carpets, with the bitter tang of the soap their mother soaked her household appliances in to keep them shining, even with the rationing.

And peppermint.

Peppermint like Peter.

A couple of years back, Peter had caught a terrible summer cold. He tended to be susceptible to those sorts of illnesses, unfortunately. His lungs had been weak since he was little. Asthma, or something. Quite how he managed to catch a sniffle in 35 degree weather, Edmund would never understand.

Peter had been desperately searching for a handkerchief in his mother's dressing table, top drawer, eyes half blinded by tears brought on by hay fever. While fumbling about, he had accidentally spilt a bottle of peppermint essence she used to scent the hankies with. It had gone all over his jumper, and soaked all the hankies in the drawer.

Their mother had not been angry, merely laughed and commented on her son's strange sense in perfume. She had given all of the hankies to him, stating that he needed them more than she did. Peter had bought her six new ones for Christmas that year, but from that day on, Peter carried one of these peppermint hankies with him wherever he went, just in case. And so Peter was inevitably doomed to smell of peppermint forever more.

Edmund could smell peppermint.

And blood.

And his eyes snapped open, to be assaulted by a bright, hazy wash of bright blue, green and red. He blinked, and reached up a hand to blearily rub at his eyes. He yawned idly, and went to rise onto his elbows.

He stopped as an additional weight pulled him down, and glanced slowly down at his thoroughly trapped midsection. A sky blue coloured shirt sleeve was just visible for his half asleep state. He blinked, and gently turned his head to inspect the offending object resting against the back of his neck.

He blinked, and then smiled.

All he could see was a mass of mussed golden hair, but it was enough. Peter was curled up against Edmund's back, knees brought up to his chest, one arm resting across his little brother's stomach. His head had been resting in the crook between Edmund's shoulder blades. Edmund's smile widened and he shook his head lightly as he carefully removed Peter's arm from his own stomach, tucking against Peter's chest. He then turned over to study his brother properly.

He reached out a hand to push the soft golden bangs away from Peter's face, and let out a quiet gasp, stiffening.

Peter was very pale, making a fading bruise below his right eye all the more accented. His lip was split and scabbed, and there was dried crusted blood seemingly frozen in mid flow from a healing gash which had drenched the side of his head hidden by the earth below them.

Edmund hastily clambered to his knees, tossing the cloak wrapped around him aside. He cursed his brother's stupidity as he placed the back of his hand on Peter's cheek, finding it terribly cold. He shuddered as he was painfully reminded of the living corpse his brother had spent several weeks inhabiting. He carefully maneuvered his brother onto his back, reaching for the cloak and tucking it around Peter's chest.

He rubbed his hands vigorously up and down Peter's arms, trying to restore some semblance of warmth as he studied his brother's injuries more carefully, thinking. After a moment he looked down in confusion at his own shoulder. It was wrapped in what looked like clean white bandages. He rolled the joint carefully, flinching in anticipation of the resulting pain.

But he felt nothing.

Only a lingering tickle of warmth in his chest. It was as though the injury had never been there. He reached up to feel his face, to find nothing but smooth skin, all cuts and bruises gone. But it made no sense. Just hours ago he had been in mortal pain, charging at Galgorus…

Galgorus!

He raised his head to look at his surroundings for the first time, and blanched, blood draining from his face as he stared around at the carnage. Corpses of dead wolves lay everywhere, some with limbs or entire torso's missing, as though ripped apart with bare hands. Reluctantly, Edmund rose to his feet, taking one last look at his brother before walking slowly over to the nearest body.

The head lay a few feet away, and Edmund flinched as he recognized the dead, unseeing golden gaze of Galgorus. He felt a shiver creep up his spine as he thought back to when he, Edmund, had beheaded the wolf with his own hands.

He had never killed before.

"Ed…mund…?"

Edmund started, and whirled about to see Peter looking drowsily up at him, half raised on his elbows, sky blue eyes clouded with sleep. His older brother rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand and blinked owlishly, yawning. Edmund suppressed a chuckle of amusement at how childish his brother looked. But then, he always looked younger in his sleep. Edmund merely smiled and made his way over to Peter, crouching beside him and brushing the hair away from his brother's face to watch him properly.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty. How you feeling?"

Peter scowled half heartedly at him, and seemed almost to pout, at which Edmund couldn't quite contain an amused chuckle. Peter appeared affronted, taking it as a personal insult, and whacked Edmund upside the head as he levered himself up to a sitting position.

"What do you mean…how am I feeling? How are _you _feeling?"

Edmund rubbed his injured head, and considered the question, still peering closely at his brother; noting the dark smudges beneath Peter's dulled eyes. Had be been up all night?

"Surprisingly good, for a person with only one shoulder. What happened?"

Peter glanced once over Edmund's body, checking he was indeed telling the truth, and seemed satisfied.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure. It all went so fast…you beheaded that wolf, and then you…just…"

Peter swallowed and looked down, and Edmund put a hand on his brother's neck, raising his chin and forcing Peter to look him in the eye. He kept his gaze level, recalling how their father used his 'soothing' tone whenever one of them was angry or worried.

"But I'm _fine_ now. Come on Peter, buck up. We're both alright, aren't we? So tell me. How did this miraculous healing come about?"

Peter sat up a little straighter, took a deep breath and fiddled absentmindedly with the makeshift blanket as he continued.

"It was that boy…the one who helped us escape…I'm not sure what he did, but I looked up, and all the wolves were dead. And you…well. So he came back, and we…talked. And he agreed to heal you. So he did. And, well…"

Peter gestured feebly at Edmund, uncomfortable.

"…here we are."

Edmund' eyes narrowed as his gaze roved over Peter's face, and bloodstained clothing.

"But he wouldn't heal you? Why?"

Peter shrugged lightly, awkwardly avoiding Edmund's gaze.

"I didn't ask him too, I suppose. This blood isn't mine, by the way. So don't worry so."

Edmund bit his lip, and then glanced down at Peter's ankle. It looked swollen, and was bent at a slightly odd angle.

"What about your ankle? Is it broken?"

Peter slapped Edmund's hands away and tentatively touched the swollen joint, winced, then probed it carefully. After a few moments, he shook his head as he gingerly rotated the limb.

"No. It's just a little sore, that's all. I may have to limp like an old man for a while, though."

His eyes were sincere, but Edmund was sure he could see…something, a lingering emotion he couldn't quite trace, in that hauntingly calm gaze. Something was wrong with his brother. Something very wrong.

"Are you sure you're alright? You seem a little…well, I don't know. Is 'melancholyesque' even a word?"

Peter laughed, but Edmund could see that bitter tint remain, even as his brother's face lit up with amusement.

"No, but it describes my mood well enough. I've just…had a lot on my mind lately. Don't worry so, Ed."

He ruffled his brother's dark hair with much protest from Edmund, who muttered about brick-headed brothers and disrespect of personal appearances. Peter shook his head with fake exasperation, grinning. His face fell as he looked at the grime which covered Edmund's face, and sighed.

"Look at us, what a mess. Covered in God knows what. Mother would have a fit if she saw us now."

Edmund grinned.

"Well, at least we won't have to suffer spit soaked tissues scrubbing it away."

They both laughed, the joyous sound dispelling the dark mood and bringing the budded flowers peeping back out into the morning sunshine once again. After a few moment of comfortable silence, Peter went to clamber to his feet.

"Let's go to the stream and get ourselves cleaned up. I think-"

He broke off as his ankle gave way, and Edmund jerked forwards to grab his brother by the arm to prevent him from falling to the ground. Peter struggled up, face set in a scowl.

"Oh, bother it. This going to be simply _awful. _I feel like a right idiot, limping about like an invalid."

Edmund couldn't resist.

"Well, the larger the pride, the greater the fall."

And his 'impudence' earned him another playful cuff around the ear, and he yelped, nearly overbalancing and sending them both crashing to the ground. He regained his balance, barely, and adjusted his grip on his brother.

"_You _are an _ass_. Well, come on. I fear this will take a long time with all this added weight on my ankle."

"Here, then. Lean on me."

Edmund pulled Peter's arm up around his own shoulders and wrapped his own arm around his brother's waist, taking the pressure off the afflicted limb. He noted how he wouldn't have been able to do this properly, had been only an inch shorter. A voice from the recent past resurfaced, uncalled, from the depths of his memory:

'You won't be able to protect your brother with that height disadvantage.'

Much as he hated to admit it, he owed the other boy at least for this. Maybe he should let him off with only a short, painless death instead of the long term suffering he had planned…

"But, Ed…are you sure you can take the weight?"

Edmund smiled at Peter, as they moved awkwardly towards the trees, weaving between the bodies of the wolves with uneasy wariness.

"Don't be silly. I'm stronger now, remember? Besides, you're not that heavy."

'And even if you were,' Edmund thought 'I'd carry you to the ends of the Earth if I had to.'

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**Cifel: Swift...painless...death? (looks slightly worried)**

**A/N: The ending was inspired by a song I once heard named 'He ain't heavy, he's my brother'. Not sure who by, though. Anyone though. The 'weight' was symbolic of Edmund accepting responsibility for Peter. (squeals) sleepy Peter! Adorable! I bet nobody expected to see that random snowdrop again! **

**To explain about Toll; you will have had to have been extremely observant to remember where she came from. Remember when Peter smashed the vials and tossed them into the bushes? I mentioned a little white flower suddenly growing and becoming healed? That was Toll, and she promptly rushed off to tell Aslan of this little 'miracle'. As I've said, she is the equivalent of five years old, and will become like Cifel is to the boy's, only she has no complicated history, and is not evil. Just a little guide for the girls. **

**Oh, 'ass' was in context with a donkey, not a rear behind. They didn't use it in such ways in those times. **

**I enjoyed writing this. Back to Edmund angst…I had to completely adjust my style of writing. Now, where has Cifel got to? Naughty little OC…**

**Toll: (giggles and gestures under the bed)**

**Cifel: (hits head on mattress) Dammit!**

**Galgorus: (tightly tied to bedpost) grrrrr…**

**I'm running out of villains…I'll have to think about that. Has anyone got any ideas as to who the witch might recruit as her second in command, other than a wolf? It would be really useful to hear your ideas. A giant, maybe? Or has anyone got something more interesting up their angst reveling sleeves?**

**If so, review! If not, review anyway! You know the drill! Oh, and you'll be pleased to know Mr Tumnus is alive and well, if a little dazed…**


	22. Chapter twenty two

**A/N: I HATE school. No, seriously. I missed my computer so much I drew a picture of it in class. I spend the whole day twitching, getting review withdrawal, just because some snot nosed prat thinks it's funny that we all have to go to bloody SCHOOL!**

**Ahem…**

**Happy place, happy place, happy place…okay, I'm alright now. And I'm ready to unleash the L I T E R A T U R E! So I didn't do my homework and am screwing up my life, I don't give damn. I am going to write my cares away…**

**Hope you enjoy! First section (in italic) is a flashback for the witch)**

Chapter twenty two

"_Do you yield, Lucifel, Gatekeeper of the Realm?"_

_The boy stared up at her with a strangely blank gaze, eyes drooping, apparently uncaring that all that was left of his pure white wings were bloody, bleeding stumps upon his shoulder blades. He cocked his head to the side, lips curling up into a twisted smile._

"_Say what you will. Do what you will. Narnia shall never bow to the tainted of heart, such as you."_

_She smiled mockingly down at him, fingering the rod on which dried blood and soft feathers clung lovingly. Then she threw back her head and laughed._

"_Sentimental fool! You truly believe salvation shall come? You are as naïve as you are pathetic."_

_The boy struggled to his feet, standing before the witch, eyes defiant. He seemed to pulsate with a shimmering energy, a swirling mass of colours of every hue and tone. She sneered._

"_So this is what the Lion gifts his great defender? Tell me, angel, you expect me to be blinded by its beauty? Or maybe struck dumb by your own incompetence?"_

_His face grew impassive, and the witch saw a glimmer of uncertainty which fueled her resolve._

"_You have been deceived, my dear. Poor little boy. Poor, stupid little boy. You should not put such faith in others; it leads towards a path you cannot return from."_

_The wind picked up, a harsh, biting caress. She smiled. It was taking effect. Her words were penetrating his subconscious, drawing poison from the depths of his mind. _

"_I shall not yield! I am Guardian of this realm; as long as I still stand upon two feet I will never bow to another, save my King."_

_She stared around in disdain at the scene of devastation and carnage which lay around them, of the rivulets of blood streaming between the crevices of the engravings in the stone table._

"_It seems to me you have already lost, little angel. And you have no wings to fly away home. Tell me; where is your salvation now?"_

_She leant closer as he closed his eyes, and she sent thin, icy tendrils up through the depths of the earth to creep across his skin and wind their way around his heart._

"_He tricked you. He shall never return, merely left you to your own devices. Why would he care of such a weak, pathetic little realm as this? What have you left to guard now?"_

_The tendrils formed a cocoon around the rapidly beating organ, sapping its strength and slowing its beat. She smiled._

"_You **failed. **The great lion has abandoned you. You are alone. Your kinsmen are dead, your charges have fallen. You are nothing but a helpless, weak minded little boy."_

_The tendrils tensed and constricted, and the blood froze in the veins, trickling weakly downwards as the boy swayed on the spot, then fell to his knees, hands clutching his chest._

"_And now," she touched a finger to his pale cheek, as she watched the stumps shimmer, grow black, and shrivel._

"_You will bow to me."_

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The witch's gaze roved over the panting, trembling forms of the pair of wolves standing before her. Their fur had turned a rusty coloured red, their coats matted with the life fluid of their companions. Two. Two of seventeen. Fifteen dead, fifteen lost to the Son's of Adam.

_**How?**_

**How was this possible?** They were naught but witless children. How could they possibly have defeated so many of her followers? How could she have allowed that traitorous celestial scum to slip under her watch!

Was there truly some hidden potential within them, which she had not seen? But surely, it was not humanly possible…

Unless…

"KRIMLOCK!"

The dwarf skidded to halt beside the throne, and bowed deeply, to which she slapped the pointed cap from his head irritably.

"Go now and check on the prisoner!"

She dismissed the two wolves, who staggered out of the hall, limping around the corner and out of sight; leaving a trail of crimson droplets in their wake. Steepling her fingers, she considered the situation; she had lost her two trump cards. But the enemy needn't know that…the defenses were in place, her forces gathered at strategic points along the newly erected border. Yes, she still had the advantage. If she played her hand correctly, she could still thwart the prophesy.

After all, she still held her most precious trump of all.

"My Queen, the prisoner has gone!"

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Susan walked at a steady, even pace, watching with a small smile playing on her lips as Lucy conversed animatedly with the little flower spirit. She had not seen Lucy this happy in a long time. She wished she herself could be more carefree, to forget the harshness of reality, even for a moment.

If this even was reality.

Perhaps she was simply dreaming?

Oh, that would be wonderful. Soon, she would awake from this; clamber out of bed, hurry to Peter's room, and find he and Edmund fast asleep and snoring like there was no tomorrow. Safe and sound, not lost, not injured. Not…dead.

She shuddered as a warm breeze lifted her hair, sending her skirts swirling about her legs. She was no saviour, no heroine, and no queen. She was simply Susan Pevensie, of Finchley.

And she would get herself, and her family, home, even if it required hurting her sibling's in the process.

Better to be a bitter failure than a dead martyr.

But for now, she would embrace the illusion and bend it to her will, if she could. Her brother's would return to her, and she would shoot that accursed witch in her spineless back. Flaming coward. Cowardess, she corrected herself. Her mother wasn't a long term feminist for nothing.

She wondered vaguely the reason why Aslan had summoned them to him. A development in the current state of affairs? Maybe news concerning Peter and Edmund?

Even though this was nothing but a fickle figment of her imagination, she still felt a shudder creep up her spine as she thought of her brother's at the mercy of that monster…

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Cifel viciously slammed a curled fist into a nearby rock face, and watched in interest as it creaked, then crumbled under the pressure. He irritably snapped his finger joints back into place, curled his fist once more, the knuckles aching slightly. No matter what he did, it simply didn't go away. He hadn't felt such things since before the winter.

Why the hell had he done such a thing? Why did he save the Son's of Adam? What possible purpose would it have served him?

And to have agreed to heal the youngest…rubbing salt into the wound...figuratively. Although, that was a thought. Why hadn't he simply dismissed their pathetic little plight?

'_You think they may actually succeed.'_

Cifel growled, and smashed his still aching fist against the side of his head. Unfortunately, rather than extinguishing the annoying voice of his conscience, the only thing he achieved was a large dent in his skull and a headache, not to mention a dizzy spell.

"Shut up! Just…they're only children…shut up!"

'_You have seen it for yourself. They are the prophesized ones. You know this.'_

Cifel withdrew his wings, and sank to the floor, allowing the limbs to wrap themselves protectively around him. Within the cocoon of inky black feathers, he closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, muttering.

"I just…daren't hope. I can't take another failure, another betrayal. I'm not strong enough."

'_Such things are what force you to grow stronger in the first place. You learned that long ago.'_

Cifel sneered, and curled his legs under him, resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his chin in them. He sighed, and pouted slightly, feeling the place where he had hit his skull throb pointedly.

"From **him. **I stopped trusting in his little lies ages ago. You expect me to turn around and blindly fall down the path he has chosen for me now? I will not."

'_You have become arrogant. You have a chance now to redeem yourself, save your country. The only true failure you will have suffered would be if you refuse to do so.'_

Cifel blinked, as the voice faded. He had spent so long dwelling in the bitter resentment that the past had given him. He hadn't really…thought about what he could do now. He thought…it was all lost…

That there was no hope left.

Had he truly fallen so deeply under evil's influence, that he had lost sight of reality? Grown so detached, that it had clouded his thoughts, his judgement?

Could he have been wrong?

Could he learn to have faith in the goodness of others, in this world, again? Could salvation truly have come at last?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Having finished his rather insightful conversation with himself, Cifel sighed, and clambered again to his feet, pulling his wings inwards with a hiss of pain. They still ached at the base, where severed ends had once met the bone of his shoulder blades. He sighed, and blew a few strands of rebellious hair out of his eyes.

"Well, at least I won't be starved of intelligent conversation."

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Somebody sighed.

"Don't be such a wimpy drip, Ed. It's only water, for goodness sake…"

But Edmund still shook his head vigorously, stubbornly refusing to go within a few feet of the 'evil' flowing surface of the stream. Peter sighed, recalling a little dark haired boy with an identical posture of defiance staunchly refusing to take a bath. Peter rolled his eyes and pulled his second sock off, gingerly plunging his swollen ankle into the cool, refreshing flow of water.

He hissed as it stung a little, and then relaxed, the caress soothing his nerves and washing the blood and grime from his leg. He smiled slightly as the refreshing sensation made him feel more alert, and turned to regard his younger brother with a mischievous smile.

"Of course, if you're scared, that's okay. I can understand how a little kid like you wouldn't like dealing with more than he could cope with…after all, baths are _traumatic _things…"

He trailed off, grinning as Edmund bristled indignantly. It was poorly disguised, and he knew Edmund was not fooled, but it riled his brother nonetheless. Ed was so easy to manipulate…

Peter turned away and began to wash his face with his removed shirt, carefully dabbing at the healing gash on his forehead with a wince. It didn't look so bad now, but the blood was still crusted in his hair. Peter tutted, as he heard Edmund hesitantly approach him, feet making light rustles in the long grass.

Peter smiled as he pitched suddenly forward, submerging his head fully beneath the surface of the water, and ruffling his hair in order to rid it of the sticky blood which streamed out and was washed away. He heard Edmund's cry of dismay, and a hand on his shoulder, and grinned wider under the water.

He sprang upright, and shook his head violently as a dog shook out its fur, and thoroughly drenching Edmund in a tirading spray of droplets. Edmund shrieked, attempted to back away, and Peter grabbed his arm and tipped him headfirst into the river.

He doubled over and laughed till his sides ached with the effort, as Edmund emerged, hacking up water, looking for all the world like a drowned rat; face set in a scowl which would send the bravest man on earth running for his life.

But Peter, too busy crying with laughter, failed to take note of this.

And this was probably why he ended up being so easily grabbed and pulled down to join his brother in the icy depths of the river.

Now it was the elder's turn to break the surface sputtering, and the younger's turn to fall to the floor of the river in hysterical giggles. Peter glared and Edmund smirked, and thus began quite the strangest spectacle ever to be seen in throughout the history of Narnia; the prophesized, highly revered future saviours of the realm having an all out water fight.

For several minutes the air was filled with nothing but ringing laughter, shrieks of joy and the sound of splashing water. Soon the disruption died down, and the wood grew silent once again as the two brother's lay beside each other, exhausted and out of breath, but feeling more exhilarated than either had felt in a long time. Just as Edmund began to drift into a light doze, a deep cough penetrated the warm contentedness he had been enjoying.

Peter began to shake.

Nothing good ever lasts long, he mused, as Peter shot upright and began to choke on his own breath, face growing red. Edmund placed an arm around his brother's shuddering shoulders, and then proceeded to rub comforting circles in Peter's back, just as he remembered their mother doing when Peter had one of his 'asthmatic induced respiratory deprivation hysteria'.

Their mother had hated it so.

She had explained that they basically meant Peter had trouble breathing.

They were otherwise known as 'panic attacks'. Lucy had a milder form, though she only suffered severe colds and an affliction to the cold. Apparently it was genetic, as their father also tended to suffer from the same symptoms as Peter, though he hid it well, retreating to his study to cough dryly for hours before it passed.

Peter had not sufferedso in years, however…had Edmund pushed him too hard? His older brother was still recovering from the witch's dark influence…he cursed his own stupidity and rested his forehead against Peter's bare shoulder, as his brother's fit passed and was reduced to a harsh breathing. Edmund felt a weak relief, mixed with fear.

How many more trials would they face? How much more suffering would they all have to face?

How much more could they take?

But just for those small moments of happiness, treasured times of pure joy and contentment…for them, and for those he loved, he would face whatever came with all the courage he possessed.

And he smiled, as they both fell gently back into the sweet smelling grass, the warm spring breeze lightly lifting their hair and seemingly carrying all their cares away upon itswhimsicalbreath.

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**A/N: So, more background info on precisely why Cifel is the little bastard he is. This works on the principal that we are what our circumstance and experience made us to be. The witch completely undermined Cifel's faith, and as a result, he lost all hope and despaired. Hence the winter.**

**Cifel's little conversation with himself was inspired by the original BBC version of the LWW, in which Edmund occasionally splits in two and argues with his conscience. I figured it would make Cifel more interesting. Besides, his pride's so large, nothing but a full blown confrontation would force him to admit the truth.**

**Toll: (hums) uh, yeah. Review for our poor empty stomachs? (sickeningly sweet smile)**

**Cifel: (twitches) I am going…to kill…that BCH! **

**Thank you all for your help concerning a possible villain! You have inspired me greatly. I shall read up on my mythical creatures and see if I can cook something up…**

**Not literally, of course…oh, sooooooo hungry…**

**Quick! Review before a strike of inspiration burns me to a crisp! (thunder and stomach rumbles) Uh oh…**


	23. Chapter twenty three

**A/N: I wasn't satisfied with my last chapter, as it was more of a backlog device than anything. Something vaguely significant is actually going to occur, so be prepared…the story may actually start moving, for once…God, I'm so slow…**

**I've been thinking; I've got sequel plan for this, set in Prince Caspian saga, but I don't want to start another 'epic' saga before I've had a bit of a break. So I thought, how about I write about all the little antics the Pevensie's have got up to properly, in full story mode? What do you think? Would you read a small set of one-shots on the Pevensie's childhood, featuring:**

**The Peppermint Palaver, Candlestick Crisis, Nightmares abound, Swinging in the Rain and Aristocratic antics?**

**Sad titles, I know…but tell me what you think. It was just a thought.**

**By the by, it's nice to know so many of you have accepted Cifel. It is gratifying as an author to know an original character fits in well. He appreciates it too, though I'm not sure he will ever admit it…**

**Cifel: (sarcastic) four words: snowballs chance in hell.**

**And now, on to Ironic Synchronicity, chapter 23!**

Chapter twenty three

"So you're saying they're alive! Are they alright? Where are they? How do you know! Oh, do tell us, Aslan!"

Lucy was practically dancing with excitement, wringing her hands in a mixture of eager joy and nervous anxiety. Toll smiled at Lucy's happiness, but was confused. She didn't seem to understand quite what the fuss was about. Susan placed a restraining hand on Lucy's shoulder and murmured a quiet:

"Calm down, Lu. Let him speak."

Susan looked to Aslan, his piercing amber gaze seeming to narrow and stare at her, apparently concerned. She shifted uncomfortably under the intensity, dropping her eyes to her hands, which were clasped in her lap.

"Daughter of Eve," Aslan began, softly "you are troubled. You seem…confused. Tell me, what is it you doubt?"

Susan couldn't deny, his gaze seemed very real to her at that moment. Surely her imagination was incapable of such invent? But this was…not possible. None of it was. Maybe she had eaten something which disagreed with her…

"Susan?"

Lucy had now joined Aslan in perusal, her hands on her hips, and Toll shifted uncomfortably, brushing a breezy hand against Susan's shoulder.

"Miss Susan? Are you tired? Do you wish to lie down?"

Susan shook her head curtly, her hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it away irritably, feeling incredibly foolish. She had had enough. She wanted to leave this place, this…confusion. None of it made sense. At all. Susan loathed not understanding anything, it made her feel…vulnerable. Exposed. She hated that creeping sensation, that lack of power, when faced with the unknown.

"I am fine. Please, Aslan. Do tell us about Edmund and Peter."

Aslan, of course was not convinced, but acquiesced nonetheless. Susan breathed a silent sigh of relief as she reluctantly listened attentively to the lion's words.

"As I said, Toll here has brought word of your brother's escape." Toll puffed out her chest with pride, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Aslan smiled kindly at her.

"The last that we know, they were in the Ettinsmoor mountain range, which is far north east from here, quite near the coast. This was about three days ago. I know not what has become of them since."

It seemed enough for Lucy, who, unable to control herself, ran to Aslan and embraced the lion tightly around the neck, burying her face in his mane, eyes welling up with tears of joy. Susan voiced a half hearted reprimand, but Aslan shook his head at her, eyes gentle.

"However, I find it unlikely they escaped unaided. I tell you, because you now hold the primary roles within this campaign. It is you who must decide; I cannot overrule you, but I will say this;"

Lucy drew back, eyes growing serious, concentrating; Susan leant closer despite herself, ignoring the embarrassed voice in her head which whispered of her folly.

"It would be most unwise to plan a direct rescue for your brothers; we have no way of telling where they are, nor where they are going. It is likely they have some sort of plan, and if my suspicions are correct, they also have a guide."

Susan blinked, and Toll straightened, taking a step forwards into the centre of the tent.

"If you please, my Lord, but I have seen this guide."

Aslan nodded for her to go on, and she continued in a babbled rush.

"While traveling through the lower valleys, I heard a terrible ruckus from where I had come. I turned, and saw a dark, winged shadow disappear over the rim of valley where I last saw the…the sons of Adam."

Lucy frowned, and thought of all the winged creatures she had so far encountered.

"Oh, winged? Was it a griffin, or some sort of bird?"

Toll shook her head fervently, adamant, looking to Aslan as she answered Lucy's question.

"No, Miss. He had arms and legs like a human, and his wings were far larger and darker than any other's I've seen."

Aslan nodded, face growing grave, and looked carefully around at all of them, pondering the spirit's words before he spoke.

"I know of this. But it is of little importance now. We must focus all our efforts upon the issue at hand; how we can use this turn of events to our advantage."

Aslan jerked his out outside, and lead them out of the tent. Lucy reached for Susan's hand, and Susan lifted her skirts as she followed Aslan up a small, grassy knoll. It was almost midday now, and the sun blazed down upon the camp, making each single blade of grass shine. Lucy smiled as she breathed the deep, sweet earthy smell of the land about them.

She truly adored this land. So different than the acrid, thick air of London. And even though she had only been here for a few days, she felt already as though she had grown a hundred years.

She looked up at her sister, whose face was hidden by the shadows cast by a nearby tree, dapple shade rippling across her features like a veil.

"Susan, do you think…"

Susan turned to look at her, and Lucy felt a sudden chill rise up her spine. Susan appeared so morose, so old, and she seemed to look down from so far above. She seemed very…sad, somehow. Lucy swallowed, and continued.

"Do you suppose we could stay…at least, for a while?"

Susan appeared to consider this, and her brow furrowed, as she gazed around, her eyes falling upon the great lion which marched before them.

"Don't you want to go home, Lucy? See mother, and father again?"

Lucy bit her lip, guilt filling her stomach. She was not proud of it, but she had indeed forgotten all about their parents. This place just seemed so…right. She felt safer here than she had ever done in their own world. Even when their father had been home to protect them, she had never felt at ease with the world about her.

Their house, their street, their town. She had always felt she didn't quite belong. She never fitted in at school, always felt so distanced from her classmates. They were pretty and girly, and altogether silly. Only ever cared about things like grades, or what hair band they were wearing.

But here…especially with Mr Tumnus, she had felt like she belonged. Like she mattered, had the power to make a difference. And she felt that, were she to return to their own world, she would never be content. Not when she had tasted the nature of true reality, real purpose.

"Of course I want to see them again…I just…I…"

She lowered her gaze, unable to put her feelings into words. She knew, anyhow, that Susan wouldn't understand. She had always been pretty, always strived to fit in, and did so with unpracticed ease. She could never understand what it was to be different. She didn't really want to be.

And with that realization, she shook her head and let go of her sister's hand, running to catch up with Aslan and walk beside him.

She would follow her own path, the path of her choosing, from now on.

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"Oh, wonderful." Edmund grumbled, as he and Peter stood upon the bank side of the river. "Absolutely fan-bloody-tastic. Just what I always wanted…_more _water!"

Peter, who was absorbed in the inky contours of the map, feigned temporary deafness and compared the landscape to the document. He nodded after a few moments, and tucked it back into his tunic.

"Okay. If we sail down this river, the river Shribble, we can reach the sea then sail along the coast to the Great River's estuary. We can then sail up there, turn down a small tributary,and end up right beside Aslan's camp."

Edmund, who was still glaring at the river with undisguised loathing, tore his gaze away to raise an eyebrow at his brother.

"Yeah, but just one tiny _weensy _problem with that, genius. No boat?"

Peter gave him a strange look, grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Drop the sarcasm will you? Honestly, you sound like our old Grand Pop…"

Edmund bristled, the river temporarily forgotten as his hands flew to his hips and he glowered at his brother instead.

"I am nothing like that old _sod. _He was sour and wrinkly, and he _smelled._"

Peter sighed, and muttered as he began to clamber down the cliffside in the bank of the river.

"Well, you don't smell so sweet yourself…"

"Excuse me, oh refined nosed one, but I just had an impromptu bath! Where are you going, anyway?"

Peter grinned as he gestured down to a point Edmund couldn't see over the rim of the bank. Edmund hesitantly leant over, and saw a small wooden, moss covered dock, tucked snugly into the side of the bank. Beside it, tied by a frayed rope, rocked a small, decrepit rowing boat.

Edmund's mouth fell open, as Peter smirked triumphantly, and jumped the remaining few feet to the rickety platform, a shower of earth shaken from roots sticking out in the bank following him. Edmund closed his mouth and edged closer to the lip of the ridge, eyeing the dock with trepidation.

"Are you sure it's sturdy enough to take both of us? Looks pretty old and busted to me…"

Peter blinked, and promptly raised one knee, and brought his leg down with all his strength. Edmund cried out a warning, but the dock held firm, only wobbling a tiny bit. Peter raised an eyebrow at his little brother as Edmund sighed and carefully lowered himself down beside his brother.

Peter peered into the boat, and picked up the long, filthy but strong structure which had a wide paddle at one end. He stood it upright and inspected it, craning his neck, as it reached far above his head. He slammed it against the dock and Edmund suppressed a cry as it rocked, and instinctively grabbed Peter's arm to regain his balance.

"Seems sound. Come on, Ed. This could cut the journey short by weeks. Don't be such a wuss."

Edmund glared at Peter's back as his older brother shed his pack and placed it neatly up one end of the boat, shoving it into a corner. He then turned and grabbed Edmund pack too, which was lying on the dock, and placed it up the other end of the boat to balance the weight. Edmund moved forward to study the surface of the boat, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted something shoved under the rim nearest the dock. It sat atop a small, filthy bundle which lay below it.

He clasped it, and pulled, falling back onto his dock with a gasp. A long pole with another, shorter pole attached at a right angle came back with him. Peter glanced up, and smiled in surprise.

"Oh, well done, Ed! You found the sail and boom. Great! This'll give us more control…"

As Peter busied himself with fretting over attaching the sail to the small indent in the boat, Edmund couldn't help but smile. It had been so long since Peter, or anyone for that matter,had said those words… 'well done, Ed'…and although he hated to admit it, his stomach filled with a flush of warmth and he inwardly beamed with pride.

"Hello, Edmund? Still with me?"

Edmund blushed as he realized he had been staring into the middle distance with a sappy, wistful look on his face. Peter withdrew his hand, which he had waved in front of his brother's face, and folded his arms. His lips curled up into an amused smile.

"And just what were you thinking about, hmm?"

Edmund shook his head violently, hair flying about his face, and grabbed Peter's shoulder in order to gain leverage to jump into the boat. It rocked, and Edmund felt a wave of nausea rise, as he subconsciously gripped Peter's shoulder tightly. He swallowed.

He absolutely _loathed _water.

There was a hand on his own shoulder, and Edmund raised his head to meet his brother's concerned, serious eyes. Peter's clear china blue gaze seemed to bore into his own, and Edmund knew he was not fooled by his façade of clumsy disregard.

"It's alright. Nothing will happen, to either of us. I promise."

He pulled Edmund to him for a brief, brusque hug, but Edmund knew he just didn't want to patronize him. And he was grateful for that. The one thing he had always loved about Peter was that he understood him; always knew what to do, and when. His older brother drew back, and fixed him with a warm smile.

"You hear? I promise you."

Peter ruffled his hair fondly, and reached over to untie the rope which anchored them to the shore. Edmund took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he watched Peter reel the rope in and store it neatly under the plank of wood which served as a tiller seat. It was a good thing Peter had taken that sailing course last Summer.

Edmund didn't go, though. He wasn't brave enough. But he would be. One day, he would be. He had promised his father he would. Besides, as long as Peter went with him, he wouldn't be so afraid. After all, Pevensie's never break their promises. Ever.

Feeling slightly more confident, but still uncomfortable as the flow of the river took over and sent them speeding down the main tide, Edmund watched with interest as Peter removed his cloak and fashioned it into a sail of sorts, tying it around the top of the vertical pole and around the horizontal. It wasn't perfect, but it caught the wind and doubled their speed.

Edmund swallowed as the boat began to rock more violently, staring down at the glimmering surface of the water so close to him. He huddled closer to the middle of the boat, standing beside the main sail as the wind whipped at his hair.

"So, how long till we reach the sea, do you think?"

Edmund said, as he found his centre of balance by spreading his arms wide, and gingerly sat down on the ragged, dirty bundle which lay at the bottom of the boat.

And promptly leapt up with a surprised yelp, as it moved, and emitted a loud pained roar of displeasure.

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Cifel watched from the shadows of the trees, as the sons of Adam hastily assembled their temporary transport with seeming ease. Itappeared the eldest was quite knowledgeable when it came to sea travel. Impressive. But not enough to convince Cifel of their prowess. They needed no fishermen upon the throne of Narnia.

A light flutter upon his shoulder, and the spy he had sent out alighted upon his sleeve. The little robin fluffed its feather's in relief, folding its wings close to its round body. It cocked its head to the side, regarding Cifel with sharp eyes the colour of blackberries.

Cifel smiled, and touched a slender forefinger to its soft head, sending a pulse of warm revitalizing magic through its exhausted form. It shivered, and stood straighter, eyes growing bright with energy.

Cifel maneuvered it gently to rest in the palm of his outstretched hand, and brought it close to his face to listen to its silent, unspoken message, as it chirruped a small greeting before beginning its report.

Cifel listened in quiet contemplation, and remained quite still for a few moments after the creature had finished.

"So…the daughters of Eve have finally gathered their wits and acted. This is grave news. Foolish humans! How can they possibly expect to defeat the witch with such trifling naivety?"

The little bird jumped in fear as he instinctively went to clench his hand, but halted as he noticed its anxiety. He fixed it with an apologetic smile, and raised his hand high, whispering a final order before it fluttered away through the tree boughs above them.

"I thank you, little one. Kindly go gather your friends and bring them before me. I have yet more tasks I wish you to complete, and I made need more help than I anticipated."

He sighed deeply as he considered the news the messenger had brought him. This was getting out of hand. The daughters of Eve were misled in their assumption of advantage over the witch. As ever, she had deceived them all.

Including Lucifel himself.

No matter how they fought, the victory was ultimately the witch's. For Cifel had recently learnt that she still held the greatest advantage, a single fact which could undermine any of the efforts by the daughters of Eve to press their temporary upper hand.

The fact that…the curse upon the eldest Son of Adam had not yet been completely broken.

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**Cifel: Of_ little importance_! I'm gonna _murder _that stupid overgrown fuzzy cat…**

**A/N: So, just why is Edmund so afraid of water? You'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out! There are VERY vague hints concealed within the dream sequences on the beach, but you'll have to look extremely closely to find them…(smiles) got you worried yet?**

**Many of you are anxious for the siblings to be re-united. But I'm afraid part of the concept of my story is that although a family should be united, that doesn't mean they can't follow their own destinies. It's all part of growing up. Also, I want it to be dramatic, and worthwhile. The buildup may be tiresome, but it makes the actual event all the more bittersweet.**

**Bittersweet? Oops…dropped another clue…**

**Take note: the injuries they sustained are not as serious as you seem to think. Peter can still walk, and the panic attacks occur at irregular intervals. Edmund, obviously, is now fine thanks to Cifel.**

**Toll: I love you, you love me, we're a happy faaaaaaaamily…SO REVIEW!**

**Cifel: (eye twitches) must…refrain…from…brutal…murder…ARGH!**

**So review, before Cifel and I get so annoyed we go on a mad Mary-sue mauling rampage…**


	24. Chapter twenty four

**A/N: Well, it took me a long time, but I finally decided on a new villain. An extra special thanks to Shauna for not only being a good reviewer, but also helping me with my inspiration! You're idea on the henchman being 'good with water' was a wonderful inspiration, and I immediately scuttled off to check the encyclopedia. **

**Unfortunately. The villain won't be appearing just yet. I have GOT to get Peter and Edmund nearer their goal before that…and also actually come up with a strategy for the girls. I'm so bad at military procedure…**

**Oh well. Thanks to all who reviewed, and enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter twenty four

Susan and Lucy sat atop the knoll in the fading daylight, putting the finishing touches to the once blank piece of paper stretched out across the grass between them. Susan glanced up, wincing as he spine creaked in protest from her hunched position. They had only about half an hour before the lines of the witch's defenses would be swallowed by the oncoming darkness.

"Finished!"

Lucy exclaimed, exhilarated, as she filled in the last small shape which indicated a lookout. From their position high up above the camp, they could see far across the battlefield, and, using the small spyglass Toll had brought to them, could map out the enemies positions.

Disturbingly, they appeared to be very tight. Susan fervently wished she could simply march over the border and give the witch a good smack, then go home. Lucy bent over the now completed map, silently counting each small marker and calculating the approximate overall strength.

They outdid their forces ten to one.

However, Lucy wasn't perturbed by this. She had realized, through her long observations of the ways of conflict. Take out the leader, and the whole force crumbles. After all, their own army had fallen apart without Aslan or Peter to guide them.

They had to figure out a way to kill the witch quickly, efficiently and with the least loss of life. The only question was, how?

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Cifel was bent on one knee at the riverside, palms flat against the crumbly earth ridge. Rising out of the rippling waters was a figure composed of the very waves themselves, molded to the likeness of a scaled face. It appeared to be an elderly, but regal, man, whose beard was made of shoal and clothing from pebbles and silt. It was the spirit of the river; Shribble, the old stream of the mountains.

Cifel listened silently as the elderlyriver recounted his tale, his voice wispy and hushed, barely discernible above the rushing whirl of the wind. Cifel, however, heard his tones quite clearly.

"…came by my way, my Lord. I consulted my brethren, and it seems the creature has moved up from the deep sea and around the tributaries. Seems to be under some kind of enchantment. Moved very queerly."

Cifel nodded, comparing the information to various creatures which had been around since this world had begun. Nothing quite fitted the description. They were either too large, or too small to travel so far. But he knew one thing; whatever it was, it was under the influence of the witch's power.

And more than likely was heading after the sons of Adam.

"Where was it, when last you heard?"

Shribble drew himself up, sending flumes of spray all about him and his scales clinking and scraping as he did so.

"Close by here, my Lord. A few leagues down the great river, heading southwards."

Cifel's heart sank, and he nodded his thanks to the river spirit, who gave a brief bow which spattered Cifel with water, before sliding back beneath the surface and becoming molding back within the texture of the waves. Cifel pushed his damp hair out of his eyes, scrambled to his feet and stood for a moment, thinking.

It was just the sort of thing she would do; send some sort of assassin ahead. She knew full well she would never catch them herself, nor retain them, which left her with no other choice.

She intended to kill them before they could become reunited with the lion's forces once again.

A cornered, desperate enemy was a dangerous one.

Cifel raised his head and followed the course of the river, before it disappeared, swallowed by a dark patch of trees far into the distance. The sons of Adam were probably nearly at the estuary by now; which gave the creature a superior advantage. After all, a cornered enemy was no worse than one which could not be seen at all.

If things went south (both literally and metaphorically), there would be no saving the sons of Adam once they were trapped by the confines of the sea.

Which gave him very little time.

Cifel sighed exasperatedly, spread his stiff and aching wings, and took off once again, allowing the high winds to carry his weight more than usual. He needed to think. This was not the mere matter of saving two innocent lives, or for he himself to wallow in bitter self pity.

The imminent course of events could decide the very fate of Narnia itself.

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No sooner had Edmund leapt back and collided with the side of the boat, Peter had his sword drawn and pointed steadily at the quivering bundle. It hastily unraveled and revealed itself to be what appeared, strangely, to be a lump of faded brown and green clothing.

However, they soon discovered this not to be the case; as it soon began cursing and shouting in a muffled, hoarse voice as itstruggled to free itself from the confines of the grimy sheet it had been wrapped in.

Peter and Edmund shared a bemused and slightly fearful glance, as the thing finally freed itself and leapt to its ridiculously long, pointed feet, shaking its fist furiously.

It was only about four feet high, and was dressed in faded, patched moss and bark coloured leggings and tunic. It wore a long, pointed red cap which nearly reached its waist, and from which what appeared to be a carved bone swung. Once it raised its head to look up at Peter, the boys saw that it had a long, forked, tangled red beard which nearly reached his knees.

Peter and Edmund could only stare in dumb amazement, as the thing continued its unintelligible rant, arms and legs flailing everywhere and sending the boat rocking violently from side to side. Edmund blinked, and his eyes narrowed as he identified the creature as a dwarf, much like the servant which served the witch.

"Just who do ye thin' ye are, comin' down while I was snoozing and stealing me boat! I'll teach you a lesson, ye little vagabonds!"

And to Peter and Edmund's astonishment, he reached behind him and under his hat, and withdrew a large, rusted but nevertheless perilously sharp, wrought iron axe.

Which Edmund promptly reached down and attempted to pluck from the dwarf's hands as he made to swing it at Peter. Unfortunately, the dwarf clung on and ended up hanging from the shaft, feet frenziedly attempting to kick Edmund in the knees.

"Thieves! Filthy little curs! Ye jus' wait, I'll ave ye guts fer garters, I will!"

Edmund blinked, and glanced up at Peter in confusion.

"Uh…didn't quite catch that."

Peter chuckled lightly and sheathed his sword, reaching over to pull the dwarf away from the axe, holding him at arms length with an apprehensive expression on his face as the creature continued to curse wildly.

"I think he said 'I'll have your guts for garters', but I'm not too sure. So, what do you suppose-"

"-Slime ridden leeches! Villainous ragamuffins! Thieving demons! Scu-"

"Oh, shut UP!"

Edmund exclaimed, growing annoyed at the constant flow of unflattering insults which the dwarf kept up with surprising stamina. The creature let out a growl of frustration but nevertheless ceased, his sharp, beady black eyes eying Peter's sheathed sword with venom. Peter raised him up so they were face to face, and frowned at the creature, eyebrow raised.

"If it let you go, will you give me a warrior's honour you will not attempt to harm us?"

The dwarf glared darkly at him, but nodded curtly after a moment. Peter dropped him bodily to the floor of the boat, and the creature let out a yelp, hand flying to his posterior with a wince. Edmund hastily backed further up to the end of the boat as the creature stood tall, chin raised in defiance, lookingPeter overwith trepidation.

"What do we ave ere, then? Some sort of deformed river spirits, who's course as dried up?"

Peter shook his head, leaning down to kneel beside the creature, face adopting a trusting smile. Edmund saw amusement glittering in his older brother's eyes, and wondered where Peter had gotten such a talent for seeing the good in even the most ridiculous of things.

Probably from their father, come to think of it.

"We're humans…I mean…Sons of Adam. We don't mean any harm."

Peter extended a hand to the dwarf, who stared at it with undisguised fear and affront, apparently unsure of why Peter had done such a thing. Eventually, he staunchly crossed his arms and raised his chin even higher.

"S'not a matter of whether you mean well, laddie. It's a matter of whether _I_ mean well."

Peter withdrew his hand and laughed gently, but somehow, it didn't seem mocking. Edmund marveled at his brother's face, which was shining with a strange sort of enjoyment. The dwarf bristled.

"You think me no match for ye? Let me tell ye, laddie, I could best you in any a fight, me! Just you see!"

Peter stopped chuckling, and his face grew slightly more serious, but Edmund could still see the twinkle of laughter in his eyes. He gestured for Edmund to hand him the axe, which Edmund did, confused as to what Peter intended to do.

"Peace, little man. I meant no insult. I am sure you would be a worthy match for both my brother and I combined."

Peter balanced the axe between his hands, and then carefully held it out to the dwarf, who eagerly took hold of the shaft, but paused when he realized Peter still held it within his own hands.

"I give you back your weapon, trusting in the knowledge that, as an honourable creature, you shall do us no harm; and in return, I too swear on both I and my brother's behalf that we mean you no ill."

The dwarf searched Peter's gaze, distrusting, but eventually gave another stiff nod, and Peter released the axe. The dwarf laid it carefully at his pointed feet and cocked his head to the side, staring up at Peter.

"Well, I'll be. Never knew thieves to be so kindly. I thank ye, laddie. But do a poor dwarf a courtesy; I still don't know the seeming noble stealers of my boat!"

Peter laughed again, as Edmund moved to secure the sail from its slipped position on the boom. He watched as Peter wrapped the creature around his little finger, just as he had done so many adults in the past. What could he say?

Peter was simply born with charm.

"We are very sorry; you see, we've come a long way and we thought your boat empty and abandoned. It is a very fine boat, too. Did you make it yourself?"

The dwarf nodded, distracted from the situation by the veiled compliment. Edmund frowned as he tied a second reef knot in the sail.

"Why, yes, I did. She is a lovely little vessel, ain't she? Been with me a long time, has Philicewith me."

He smiled reminiscently, as Peter gave Edmund a significant look and jabbed a finger at the fallen axe, which Edmund subtly slid under the seat and out of sight.

"But tell me, lad. Who are ye? You have names?"

Peter nodded, and gestured to himself, then to Edmund as he introduced them.

"I'm Peter, and this is my younger brother, Edmund. And who is our noble host?"

The dwarf flushed with pride, and drew himself up once more, puffing out his chest with pride.

"I be Rabadash the mountain dwarf, formerly of the Thistlekin clan. I come from a long and noble line, I do. But dear me…Peter and…oh, what was the other?"

Edmund flashed a simmering glare at him, and repeated his name to the dwarf, who eyed him with seeming dislike.

"Peter and Edward, then-"

"Edmund!"

The dwarf nodded distractedly, and Peter gave Edmund a sympathetic shrug before turning his attention back to Rabadash.

"Yes yes, Edward…such queer names. Where do you hail from then, my strange wee laddies? What did ye say ye were again?"

"Oh, we're humans. Sons of Adam, I mean. We came from the lantern wastes."

Rabadash burst out laughing, red head thrown back in raucous mirth, and Peter appeared affronted, looking to Edmund in confusion. Edmund rolled his eyes and sat down on the seat, eying the snickering dwarf with disdain.

Rabadash wiped a tear from his eye, as his chuckles died away, and continued.

"Oh, that's a good one! Ye little joker, you. Humans? What poppycock!"

Peter fixed him with a serious, clear, blue eyed gaze which made him freeze in his mirth. Edmund swallowed. He hated that look. It reminded him so painfully of his father's reprimanding eyes when he had done something wrong.

"I assure you, Rabadash the dwarf, that I am not jesting. Just as the river is made of water, we _are _from the human realm."

Rabadash seemed to study Peter, shuddering slightly under the intense gaze. He rubbed his beard and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Ye got such haunting eyes on ye, laddie. Could put them to good use, no doubt, when charming the ladies, eh?"

He winked, and Peter faltered, a light blush rising to his cheeks. Edmund glared. Although Peter was far from bad looking, very far, in fact, their mother had always firmly maintained that both her sons were handsome in their own ways. He had grown so sick of Peter always, even if it was through no fault of his own, taking the limelight.

But all that was in the past. Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably, ears growing a bright pink.

"Yes, well…how can we prove to you that we are human?"

Rabadash turned to look Edmund up and down as he considered his comment. His eyes lingered on Edmund's feet, and suddenly widened, and he whipped about to look at Peter's feet.

"I heard tell…in tales of old, that humans…possessed ten-toed feet. Can ye prove that to me, lad?"

Peter exchanged a thoroughly disturbed look with his brother, but nodded for Edmund to demonstrate. Edmund huffed, undid the laces on his shoes and pulled off his sock of viciously, bringing his foot back down with perhaps more force than was necessary.

"Well, I'll be thrice damned and have me beard shawn off! Ye truly weren't jesting…"

He simply gaped at Edmund's bare foot, while Peter glanced down at the glistening surface of the water, watching the contours flow lazily by. Then he frowned.

"Oh…hey, what's-"

But before he could finish his sentence, the water all around them exploded in cascading flumes of spray, and the boat almost overturned as something huge emerged from the depths below.

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Helen Pevensie's hands shook as her fingers clenched the letter with bone crushing force. Silent tears rolled mockingly slowly down her hollow cheeks, before tumbling down and blurring the neat, inky handwriting which spiraled across the page's surface.

Henry.

Henry had been killed in action…one of the first 'valiant' victims of the battle of Dunkirk, round the outskirts of Paris.

Her hands lost all their strength and slumped in her lap, as the letter drifted slowly to the ground, face down beside the chair; now stained with moisture.

They had all left her now.

Her husband, her friends, her babies. Even her angel.

She clenched the soft material within her hands; a modest, baby blue knitted jumper which Peter had somehow managed to leave behind. It had a hole in one elbow, which now sat half darned shut with a needle poised mid-stitch.

She closed her eyes and leant back in the armchair, the tears now flowing freely down her pale face, the once strong soul within being torn asunder by wave upon wave of sorrow.

"Oh angel, angel. Why have you forsaken me so?"

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**In case you forgot, Henry is Mr Pevensie.**

**A/N: I know I said I would explain Ed's fear of water in this chapter, but developments occurred and I had to postpone it. It will be in the next chapter, though, I promise!**

**So…anyone think they know what I chose for the next little obstacle in the boy's journey? You'll never get it!**

**The river spirit, old man Shribble, was an idea taken from Prince Caspian; in which, the 'river' itself in the form of a human made of waves, asks Aslan to free him from his chains. It would make sense that Cifel, as guardian of the realm, would have all the elements at his command. **

**Toll: (gagged)**

**Cifel: (whistles not so innocently) **

**(Sigh) OC's cost so much to keep…so I need funds…in the form of reviews! Review if you don't want Cifel to spontaneously be killed off…(and remember just who is heading to save Peter and Edmund's sorry hides…)**

**Cifel: _WHAT!_**

**(Evil grin)**


	25. Chapter twenty five

**A/N: This chapter is a bit unorthodox...**

**(ominous dun dun dun)**

**As ever, a COLOSSAL thanks and a hug from your favourite character to all of my reviewers! Cifel is a little disturbed at his own success, but I myself am thrilled with the response he is getting.**

**Cifel: Somebody…actually…likes me? (twitch)**

**(Snaps fingers) I KNEW it! I knew I named Rabadash after someone…but don't fret, dear readers! Rabadash isn't his real name, after all…(evil grin) he's not your average dwarf…**

**The italic scene in this chapter is an Edmund flashback, not a dream. It happened in the past, obviously.**

Chapter twenty five

"_Ed! Edmund…come on!"_

_Edmund glanced up from his meticulous perusal of the strand of seaweed, and blinked, seeing his older brother smile at him and hurry away across the sand. His sandals slapped gently on the surface and his golden hair tossed in the wind, and he was laughing. Edmund hastily scooped up his bucket and held it to his chest, hurrying to catch up with his brother._

"_Peter! Wait up!"_

_He skidded to a halt beside Peter, who stood staring up at the sheer surface of the cliff leading up to the rock pools. Edmund followed his gaze and swallowed thickly. To the seven year old, it seemed a horrible way up. He gasped slightly as Peter jumped upwards, grasped the sharp edge of the cliff with a wince, and lifted a sandaled foot into a nearby crevice._

_Edmund grabbed his sleeve and tugged insistently, and Peter turned to look down at him, frozen mid-leap._

"_Shouldn't…" Edmund gulped slightly "I mean…isn't it a little dangerous? Mummy said…"_

_Peter rolled his eyes, and hauled himself up and over the edge, leaning back over to grin down at Edmund from high above._

"_Don't be silly. She didn't say we couldn't go here, just right under the cliffs. Come on! Not chicken, are you?"_

_Edmund fervently shook his head, pouting, and took his brother's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be hoisted up and over the lip to join his brother. He stared down at the sand below, a small grin beginning to split his worried frown._

"_You see? What'd I tell you? Safe and sound."_

_Peter grabbed his spade and set off down the next ridge to peer into a nearby rock pool. Edmund stayed a while, marveling at how high up he was, before following, still clutching his bucket to his chest._

_The cool, salty sea air tossed their hair about their heads, and they pushed it irritably out of their eyes as they leant over pool after pool. Each was a different size, a different shape and, it seemed to Edmund, a different world. He gazed in wonder as Peter would hold up a seemingly empty shell, and quite suddenly a set of scalene, spindly legs would emerge and curl around the edges. Or when he picked up what he thought was a plant, and saw it had a slurping, sucking mouth and sharp little teeth._

_Soon, as all little boys do, they grew bored of the crabs and the tiny fish, and went in search of something more exciting. Something bigger. They trekked away from the smaller pools and towards the larger ones, where the tide rose to fill huge crevices within the indents in the rock. Here, they felt far more like explorers and far less like two small brothers clutching toy tools._

"_Oh! Look!"_

_Peter threw his spade aside and dived to his knees, wincing as the sharp rock dug into them. He bit his lip and continued nonetheless, reaching down into a deep crevice in the rock. Edmund frowned._

"_Peter? What are you doing?"_

_Peter did not answer, but his face suddenly split into a wide grin as he pulled his hand out of the indent, holding something tightly within grazed fingers. Edmund leant over it, mouth agape._

_It was a shell, about as big as Edmund's own head, a deep spiral which shone all hues of peach, pearly white and creamy yellow. Edmund reached out and touched a protruding spike from the side, and found it to be perfectly smooth and rounded instead of sharp. Peter cradled it in his hands, and marveled at the shaping of it. He raised it to eye level and Edmund now stood up on tiptoe in order to see too._

_They carried on, climbing further and further away from the beach, till they reached the largest rock pool of all. It sat like the crevice of the moon, deeply set into the very core of the rock, surrounded by a high wall of sheer dark rock. Edmund eyed it with uncertainty, and even Peter stood still for a moment, watching the bowl as if it would suddenly rise and swallow them up._

"_Do…do you think it's safe?"_

_Edmund whispered, unsure why he was speaking in such hushed tones. Peter cocked his head to the side and shifted the shell under his arm, studying the bowl further._

"_Not if the tide was lower…but look. It's almost reached the second area of rocks already!"_

_Edmund followed the line of the sea, and saw that it was rapidly rising higher and higher up the beach, hungrily devouring any shoal or shells it came upon. He swallowed, and huddled closer to his brother, hand fisting in Peter's sleeve._

"_Let's go back."_

_He said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. Peter nodded, turned, and jumped down to the next rock pool to gather up the spade and bucket. Edmund gazed out to the sea, watching the tide crash upon the opposite side of the bowl and tumble down into the pool._

_He was just about to turn and call to Peter to hurry, when he froze._

_He had seen something roll just above the dark surface of the tide, flung upwards and then pulled back down. He squinted, and clambered down to a small ledge just above the waters surface. His mouth fell open._

_It was another shell, but darker, and about twice the size of Peter's. Edmund bit his lip and looked from the ledge above him, to the shell. It was so **big…**and he had nothing to show Daddy for his efforts, nothing which would make him proud…whereas Peter could present the other shell and receive an affectionate ruffle of his hair…_

_But not if Edmund managed to get something better._

_Daddy would be so proud, if he got it all by himself! Besides, he didn't need Peter. He could swim across the whole width of the pool at home, and the shell was only a few metres away._

_Mind set, Edmund leapt off the ledge, and landed on the edge of the bowl, the impact sending shudders up his legs. He could feel the sharp edges of the rock through his sandals, but paid it no heed as he edged slowly into the water. It was very cold, and the salty debris swirled about and clung to his legs. He shivered slightly, but thought of his father's smiling eyes, filled with pride, and continued on._

"_Edmund?"_

_Edmund frowned as the water reached his waist. Stupid Peter. He'd probably get jealous when he got out with his prize, and tell him off for going near the tide. But it didn't seem that dangerous…the water was only disturbed by the light shimmer and ripples as he himself disturbed it. He scowled, and marched resolutely forwards, reaching out his hands for the shell._

"_Ed, don't!"_

_Edmund peered into the dark depths of the water about him. He could see it quite clearly now, rocking gently with the currents of the tide, submerged within the deepest part of the pool. Eagerly, he surged forwards._

"_Edmund NO! Daddy said-"_

_But Edmund was no longer listening. All he could see was the shell. The water reached his shoulder as he reached down through the cold darkness towards it._

"_EDMUND!"_

_His fingertip brushed the smooth cone of the shell, and he smiled, leaning further over. He would take it back and show it to Daddy, and laugh at Peter's silly worrying. **He **had been brave enough to go in and get an even better prize! That would put Peter in his place!_

_He hoisted it up, and at that moment the elements struck._

_A huge, powerful wave rose high above the lip of the pool, and came crashing down, cascading over Edmund's head and pushing him beneath the water. He opened his mouth as he tried to scream, but it only filled with water. He swallowed, and choked, but only more rushed in. The salty taste burned his throat and his lungs ached with the need for oxygen. _

_The wave collided with the edge of the bowl below where Peter now stood, horrorstruck, and the force sent it careening back._

_Back out to sea._

_Edmund felt his head strike against something sharp, and was wrenched over the outer ledge of the bowl and into the infinite darkness of the sea. He kicked and flailed weakly, but only sunk further down, mouth filled with water and eyes stinging, his desperate tears lost within the water around him. he tumbled across the seabed, and rolled upright, placing his feet down and pushing with all his remaining strength to gain leverage to push himself up towards the glittering surface of the water._

_Quite suddenly, the hard surface of the rock fell away and he merely sunk up to his knees in the sand._

_The rock pool ledge had ended._

_He stared up at the dancing rays of the sun, refracted and distorted by the sea. It looked so strange, so ethereal, from beneath the waves. He attempted to dispel the water in his lungs, but only cold, stale lack of air replaced it._

_And then two sandaled feet appeared._

_Quickly followed by a billowing, sky blue shirt and a pale face with china blue eyes. Edmund's heart leapt as his brother swam steadily down to him, his hair dancing about his head like a halo. Peter looked so…strange, underwater. Like some sort of celestial creature._

_Peter's eyes darted about Edmund and the surrounding area, as black spots appeared before Edmund's vision. His eyes fluttered, and he felt two hands grasp him around the waist and attempt to haul him up._

_No good._

_He was well and truly stuck._

_Edmund felt a cold despair fill him, far colder than that of the water around them. He was going to die._

_And Peter was going to die with him._

_His eyes snapped open, and he wildly flailed his arms with all his strength, batting Peter away. His brother's face was turning red with lack of air, and he seemed to be fumbling with something beside him. _

_The red spade, lodged upright in the sand._

_Peter grasped the handle, then grabbed Edmund collar, and pulled with an unexpected amount of strength._

_Edmund flew upwards, billows of sand obscuring his vision. Instinct took over and he rose to the surface, speeding upwards. He glanced down, and his heart froze._

_Peter had needed more than a spade to lever him out._

_In the process of pulling Edmund up, Peter had entrenched himself up to his knees in the sand._

_Buried himself in his own watery grave._

_Edmund cried out to him, as his brother's terrified sky blue eyes frightened him far more than the prospect of dying ever could. Fear flooded his senses, far worse than the terror for himself did. Peter was going to die, in Edmund's place._

_Peter._

_Was going._

_To die._

_Suddenly a large hand had grabbed his shoulder, and he broke the surface, taking a lungful of sweet, fresh air. But he felt no joy, no rapture, and no thankfulness for his salvation. His head span, and he blinked as he saw a pair of dark, stormy blue eyes stare at him with a different kind of fear._

_His father._

"…_Da…ddy…"_

_He wheezed, as Henry Pevensie hoisted him up and began to carry him back to the beach. Edmund, his strength rapidly returning, struggled and flailed all over the place, his hand colliding with his father's cheek. _

_Suddenly, his stomach heaved._

_He threw up all over the golden sand, feeling as if his insides would burst, his head pounding. But even as he dispelled what seemed like an ocean of water, he waited for a pause in his plight to speak._

"_Daddy…Peter…down…"  
_

_He pointed a shaking finger towards where he himself had been stuck only moments ago, and repressed another urge to hurl as his father paled, and swung back around to dive into the water once again. Edmund watched him disappeared beneath the surface, and even though he felt petrified at the prospect, he edged closer to the oncoming tide._

_He had to know._

_The past few minutes shot by in freeze frame like slides on a screen. The shell. Peter, laughing at him, hair tossing in the wind. Peter, showing him the first shell, clear eyes filled with wonder. Peter, staring with wide eyes as he called for Edmund to stop. _

_Peter, eyes locked with Edmund's own, utter terror filling the china blue depths, but somehow accepting, and Edmund froze._

_He had **known.**_

_Peter had known that what he was doing could well have cost him his own life, but did it nonetheless. For Edmund. For stupid, stupid, foolish Edmund._

_The tears rolled down his cheeks, no longer lost within the salty depths. He had killed his own brother. Peter was **dead.**_

_Edmund was a murderer._

_He watched with blank, almost unseeing eyes as his father broke the surface, Peter's limp form cradled in his arms like a rag doll. His brother was covered in grime and grazes, his skin a sickly blue colour, his golden hair hanging dark and in limp strands, obscuring his face._

_He certainly looked dead._

_Their father ran back to fall to the ground beside Edmund, and Edmund watched, unable to move as his father laid Peter on the sand and checked his pulse, his breathing._

_Edmund could tell from his father's face that the news wasn't good._

_Peter's eyes were closed, the lashes crusted with salt from the sea and resting almost peacefully against now flushed cheeks. He looked like he could have been sleeping. But from this sort of sleep, nobody woke up._

_Edmund bent over himself, fisting his hands and clawing at his face, and sobbed harder, more for Peter than himself. He pulled at his hair and curled up in the sand, the coarse surface chafing his bare legs._

_There was a gasping inhalation, and a choking sound._

_Edmund's eyes snapped open to see Peter almost sitting upright, held up by their father, and hacking up dark, thick water mixed with blood and vomit. At first, Edmund didn't quite comprehend what he was seeing._

_Peter was…dead._

_His brother was shaking and shuddering uncontrollably, as their father quickly turned him onto his back and began rubbing the now filthy sky blue shirt gently. For what seemed like hours Peter continued to convulse and throw up, and Edmund thought his very bones would shatter under the pressure. Eventually, Peter stilled, and the only sound which filled the air was harsh, raspy breathing._

_After that, everything was a blur._

_They had returned to their mother and sisters, all three of them ignoring the harsh reprimands and horrified comments. Daddy had wrapped Peter in one of the spare picnic blankets, while Mummy had toweled Edmund dry, all the while frantically asking what had happened. Edmund didn't answer. He was watching his brother's face, which seemed almostserene now._

_Peter's eyes drooped, and his head dropped against his father's shoulder as he still continued to rub comforting circles in his son's back. His dulled, china blue eyes moved slowly to lock with Edmund's._

_Peter smiled sleepily at his little brother, before his eyes fluttered shut and he fell limp against his father's side._

_And Edmund closed his own eyes, and began to cry again._

_Nothing any of them said could either console him, or force him to tell them what had happened. He merely held his father's hand tightly and walked with aching legs back to the train station, watching his brother's peaceful, sleeping face all the way._

_He didn't stop crying until he fell into a fitful sleep that night, cold and alone and too frightened to seek the warm comfort of his brother's bed._

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**A/N: Remember in one of the dreams, where Edmund thought that if Peter would clamber over the edge something terrible would happen? Well, now you know. I originally planned to have this as another dream, but it just didn't seem to fit in. this works better by way of angst, though.**

**I didn't originally intend for this to be one long flashback, but it turned out far longer than I expected. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Toll: Ten green bottles, hanging on the wall…**

**Cifel: (begs) PLEASE! If you review, ohcEEcho promised to shut her up for good…(wild eyes)**


	26. Chapter twenty six

**ARGH! got screwy and I couldn't post...her we are, though FINALLY...**

**A/N: Yay, another action chapter! I really enjoy writing these; they're so…well…exciting! This chapter has a direct reference to the title; in that it is very ironic that certain roles are reversed and certain situations repeated…**

**I've just been to see Narnia again (woot!) and have noticed something interesting. Ed and Peter always seem to share significant looks. Whenever they're in the same scene, one is always looking at the other. And when the witch comes to claim Edmund's life, he's constantly looking up at Peter for reassurance. Sweet. (sighs)**

**And now…(rubs hands together in glee)**

Chapter twenty six

Something enormous reared upwards out of the cascade of turbulence, sending jets of spray lashing across the river's surface. Edmund watched in horror as a huge, scalene head about the size of the boat itself emerged, pointed and snout-like. It was covered in hundreds of dark green and blue scales, which flexed and bent as the creature threw back its head and let out a high pitched screech.

They all clutched the sides of the boat as the creature plunged back beneath the surface, a deep, foam filled indent forming in its wake and sending the boat tossing even harder upon the waves. Before it had submerged, Edmund had seen a narrowed, crimson eye on the side of the creature's head swivel about to look at him.

He shuddered.

"By my beard, that be a chimaera! I ain't heard tell of one o' them types creeping up on clear rivers afore…grab a hold a summat, lads!"

But Peter and Edmund were already clutching onto the boat for dear life, Peter hunched against the sail, Edmund crouched beside the back seat. Edmund scanned the turbulent waters for any sign of a shadow, but saw nothing. There was a scraping of metal as Peter unsheathed his sword, and climbed unsteadily to his feet, wincing. Edmund noted he seemed to standing predominantly on one foot.

Peter couldn't fight anything when he couldn't even _stand _properly.

Rabadash also stood up, grasping his axe with a defiant flourish. Edmund swallowed, noticing his own sword just a few feet away across the bottom of the boat. He hesitated, and then made a lunge for it.

Unfortunately, the chimaera chose that very moment to act.

The entire boat lurched upwards, sending all three of the occupants slamming against various surfaces or simply being tossed into the air (in the dwarf's case). Edmund closed his eyes tightly shut as he collided with the edge of the boat with a jolt.

"It's below us! Ramming up from beneath!"

Peter exclaimed, and Edmund opened his eyes to see him leaning precariously over the edge of the boat, one hand still grasping the mast. He glanced down, and saw a small, splintered indent in the round bowl of the vessel.

Water was seeping through.

The boat was sinking.

"By Aslan's furry tail! One more hit like that, and the entire bottom will split right down the middle! We'll be serpent bait!"

Edmund muttered darkly as the dwarf brandished his axe threateningly at the surrounding water, and Peter looked up to meet his gaze, eyes filled with horror. They simply looked at each other. Neither had any idea how to get out of this one.

"I'll be a damned, beardless midget afore I let the bastard near ma Philice!"

The dwarf stomped his pointed foot, and both Peter and Edmund cried out as the crack widened considerably, and water began to gush in. Edmund looked from the water in the boat to the river about them.

There was no escape.

He felt panic rise in his throat, and he looked frantically to Peter, who seemed frozen, kneeling quite still in water which was steadily reaching his knees, eyes wide. But for once, his older brother had no answer. He looked just as frightened as Edmund felt.

Edmund mentally slapped himself.

This was ridiculous! Here they were, about to be sent to an undignified watery grave and all they could do was sit and stare! Maybe Cifel was right; humans truly were cowards. But Edmund, personally, would not stand for such an end. He would NOT allow history to repeat itself, wouldn't let Peter down again. He wasn't useless anymore. He could fight!

And with that resolution, he stood bolt upright, grabbed the sail and stared wildly about. There had to be a way out of this; some advantage, some gap in the chimaera's defenses. But how could they possibly fight and enemy they couldn't even see?

He felt his fear fade as he calculated each possible course of action with an abrupt evaluation. They had to force the creature to surface, if they wanted a clear shot. But _how?_

'_We'll be serpent bait!'_

Edmund blinked, then clapped a hand to his forehead in sudden realisation, to which Peter looked up in surprise, halting in his frenzied scanning of the dark water. Edmund's smile faltered, however. They had no meat with which to lure it out with…

Unless…

He swallowed, and looked to his brother, Peter's face still blanched with blind panic, and more than a little desperation.

Time to return a few favours.

"I'm going to jump in."

Silence.

"WHAT? Edmund, **_NO!_**"

Peter was on his feet now, staring at Edmund with a frenzied disbelief. He grabbed his little brother by the shoulders and stared at him as if he had gone mad. Edmund wondered whether he had. But as far as he could see, it was their only chance.

"Peter, listen. If I can just get it to surface, you can get a shot with your sword, or maybe the dwarf with his axe. And if not, well…you can swim to the bank while I-"

"AVE YE GONE MAD, LADDIE!"

Rabadash interjected, appearing at their side as the boat began to rock ominously again. Edmund stared into his brother's eyes unblinkingly, watching with slightly sluggish fascination as it changed colours and hues with each new emotion. Peter shook his head slowly, a slightly insane smile curling his features.

"You can't…possibly…expect…Ed, no…"

And suddenly Peter had sat down heavily on the bottom of the boat, bent double and emitting stifled giggles. Edmund stared, stunned, as his brother began to shake with uncontrollable laughter; Edmund bent down, concerned.

There were tears streaming down Peter's cheeks.

And then, the stifled chuckles contorted into harsh sobs, and tremors wracked his brother's hunched form. Edmund watched, feeling strangely numb, as Peter seemed to lose all semblance of hope right before his eyes.

Eventually, he raised blank, china blue eyes to smile bitterly up at Edmund.

"Ed…we're going…to die…"

It was that same resigned, somewhat cold acceptance which Edmund had seen in Peter's eyes that day at the beach, as he rose to salvation even as his brother was condemned to slavery.

But Edmund never, ever wanted to that look of such helplessness in his brother's eyes again.

He leant down, and embraced his brother tightly, breathing in that comforting smell of peppermint one last time. He was strangely calm. He sighed, and gave his brother one last consoling squeeze before he drew back, balancing awkwardly on his knees.

"No, we're not. Or at least, you're not. Because I won't let you."

He bent forwards once more, cradled Peter's face in his hands and pressed a brief kiss to his brother's forehead.

Before hurling himself out over the side of the boat, and plunging into the converging torrential cascade of the river's wrath. Within moments, he was lost in the darkness.

And Peter screamed.

"**_EDMUND!"_**

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Cifel cried out and tumbled in the air, barely regaining his balance in time, and cursed. Two simultaneous surges of pure agony had suddenly torn across the Sons of Adam's auras. His own chest was burning in the aftermath, small pulses of fear still trickling in from the broken bond Cifel had forged with them.

But they weren't dead.

Not yet.

He shuddered. Their pain had filled the void where his heart had once been, blinding his senses with emotions he had worked so hard to suppress. And now, he thought, bitterly, he remembered why.

If it hurt so much to love, to hope, why bother with it?

He would never understand.

But, he realized, it wasn't about understanding. Belief was, in fact, the complete opposite of the will to know, to understand. For without knowledge, all that is left is to believe.

If that were so…

Then he needed to stop trying to understand, stop questioning the ways of the world. He remembered a time when he had blindly followed that kindling fire within his heart, willingly accepting that whatever course he might take, he would not suffer for it.

He knew better now.

But suffering was part of happiness. Without suffering to counteract joy, there would be nothing but impassive acceptance to fill the world.

Did he truly want that?

No.

Ironic that goodness may only exist when there is evil to contrast to it.

For without evil, what is good?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The witch stood irresolute upon her chariot of war, her hair and neck garment she had fashioned from Aslan's fur billowing out behind her. Her chariot was now drawn by four, snowy coloured tigers, as the reindeer were of no use in summer. She clenched the broken shards of her wand in her hand and seethed.

How could she have let almost all slip through her hands?

Merely from the simple misconception of s ingle being's prowess. That accursed angel! If it hadn't been for him, she would still have the sons of Adam at her mercy, ready to be used as barter tools.

But she would have to make do.

Two thrones filled in Cair Paravel…it wasn't perfect, but for now, it would suffice. She would assassinate the daughters of Eve when the opportunity presented itself. Now, however, she had a double bluff to attend to.

Cifel was foolish indeed if he believed she would truly be so crude as to send a chimaera after the sons of Adam to do her dirty work. Oh, no. This was only the first act.

The worst, in their eyes, at least, was yet to come.

Jadis smirked, and brought the broken shards of the wand up before her.

Perfectly, cruelly jagged, with a single protruding tip sharper than any knife or sword could ever be.

Yes. The perfect tool with which to exact her vengeance.

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"Hey…Susan?"

"Mmmm?"

"Are you awake?"

A sigh, and a shift of clothing.

"Well, I am now. What is it?"

Lucy bit her lip, and turned over in her makeshift bed to looked Susan in the eye. She clutched the edge of her pillow, willing herself not to seem as worried as she felt.

"I've just got…a terrible feeling. Like a weight in my stomach."

Susan's face grew concerned, and she hastily clambered out of bed, moving across the soft rug which lay on the floor of the tent. She knelt beside her little sister and felt her forehead.

"You have no fever. Is it a stomach ache?"

Lucy shook her head fervently, sitting up and bunching the covers around her, which Susan promptly smoothed. A shaft of moonlight filtered through a gap in the tent, and a soft night breeze cooled their cheeks. Susan looked so like their mother to Lucy, and she shivered.

"No, it's not a pain like that. It's more…I don't know. Like…something horrible…is going to happen."

Susan looked at her, then helped her lie back down and tucking her in before moving back to clamber into her own bed. She smiled reassuringly at Lucy as she too lay down.

"It's probably just a feeling. Don't worry, Lu. It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

But Lucy knew that Susan didn't really mean that.

After all, she could tell Susan hadn't slept a wink that night either.

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**A/N: I have a VERY special twist in the works. A plot twist, that is. I only just thought of it, as a matter of fact. I don't know, though…it's a bit drastic. What do you think? Big plot twist, or no big plot twist?**

**And if so, think you can predict it? If it's predictable, it's not worth using.**

**Toll: I know something you don't know, doo da, doo da, I know something you don't know, doo da do da day…EEEK!**

**Cifel: (brandishes frying pan threateningly) One more word…just _one, _and I _swear_…**

**(Laughs nervously) Uh…yeah…SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF HERE!**

**Oh, and review…(runs away as fast as her OC fearing legs can carry her)**


	27. Chapter twenty seven

**A/N: Yay, 200 reviews! There was trouble over the last chapter. Not sure what happened, but I decided to let it calm down and took this chapter off for a couple of hours. Sorry! I didn't want to screw it up anymore, though…**

**Besides, I wanted to make a few changes…wasn't too happy with it, but now it's much better! **

**This chapter pov hops about faster than a grasshopper on a boiling brick, and contain quite a bit of confusing, and sometimes insane, trails of thoughts. Bear with it.**

**Anyhoo…**

Chapter twenty seven

Lucy watched with dull, emotionless eyes as the Narnian creatures prepared for war once again. She had the most incredible sense of deja-vu. Oh, how she wished Peter and Edmund were here, or even father, or mother. Or Susan. But they were all, one way of another, facing problems of their own.

And she could learn to shoulder the weight of her own troubles.

She had to.

Children grew up so fast when presented with opportunities to do so. Parents spend so much time sheltering their young, they do not notice-or perhaps they do not wish to- when they cease to be young anymore. Lucy certainly had always felt that she was devalued somewhat.

But here, in a camp of war, that mattered very little.

She went over once again the plan of combat she had concocted, along with Aslan and the subordinate to the late centaur general, Vorian. She cared little for the details of the left flank, the main body etc, but she was very much intrigued by her own part in the proceedings.

Only to discover she had none.

'Battles are ugly affairs. I do not wish for you to fight.'

But was not _the _battle. This was another, completely different affair. So she would be doing no wrong by doing her own meager part, by helping to revive fallen allies. Even if it meant being exposed to the fire of the enemy. She had seen so much, now, and felt so much. She knew she could handle it.

Just like in their childhood games, when they were little.

She had watched with envy from her playpen when she was very small, as her siblings became lost in a fantasy world. Peter was nearly always the hero, brandishing a wooden spoon attached to a frying pan with enthusiastic valour. Susan, as the only available girl, often ended up as the damsel in distress. She would creep upstairs and 'borrow' one of their mother's feathered hats, and sit atop father's armchair with rather much less enthusiasm.

Edmund had always got a thrill from being the dark knight; he would hold a walking stick aloft with a very realistic evil grin on his face, and promptly joust with Peter for the 'damsel's' freedom. Peter won, of course. Always. And then they would leave the room to search for other great deeds to accomplish (mainly involving the larder), leaving Lucy alone in the quiet front room.

Once Lucy was old enough to play with them, they seemed at a loss for what to do. The first time Lucy joined in, Peter had handed her the wooden spoon and proclaimed that she was now the heroine. He was always doing things like that. Eventually, however, Peter grew bored of just sitting out.

"Hey, Lu! How about we try something new?"

Lucy could still hear her eldest brother's excited voice, as he ran to fetch the tea cosy and placed it carefully on her head, making sure her ears were tucked in. Then he grinned, and suddenly staggered back with a fake cry of horror.

"Oh, no! A dragon!"

Lucy had seen pictures of dragons in her books in the playpen. They roared, she knew. And were very majestic. So she grinned back, and roared viciously, to which Susan nearly toppled off the armchair.

Soon, Susan grew too old for such things. She spent her time dressing up dolls instead, taking joy in buttoning up their little pinafores and skirts. Lucy, however, hated them. Hated their simpering smiles and rosy, unnatural red cheeks.

She much preferred playing dragons and knights with her brothers.

She had heard her neighbors commenting on how wild she was, how nice little girls didn't roll around in the mud or play football with their brother's. But she didn't care. All she knew was that she far preferred being outside in the rain than sipping tea in the kitchen on such days, as her sister did.

But when she started school, things changed.

Peter and Edmund seemed uncomfortable playing with her; said she couldn't come with them when they went out with their friends.

"Honestly, Lu, you wouldn't enjoy it."

Peter had said, hand on her shoulder, muddy football tucked under his arm, Edmund standing at the gate, knees grazed.

"But I want to go with you! I promise I'll be good."

Peter had bitten his lip and stood, a sympathetic smile on his face. She had scowled then.

"Because I'm a girl?"

Peter's reply was cut off by Edmund's shout of frustration, and he had turned, flashing one last smile before running down the path to join his brother. He called back over his shoulder as he went:

"I'll read you a story later, okay? Find a book you like! Back soon! Come on, Ed…"

Lucy had watched them go, a lump in her throat, but refusing to let the tears fall. She didn't cry.

But after that day, she had felt so horribly alone.

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As Edmund hit the water, the world feel strangely quiet about him. The numb, perishing cold of the river seeped through his skin, stiffened his muscles, but he continued to swim as well as he could. He was a little unsteady, but as he thought of the beast somewhere below him, his strength redoubled and he pushed himself harder.

The water was roaring in his ears, just as it had done that day at the beach. But he felt none of the fear he had experiences then. None of the pain. Because this time he had a true purpose.

Peter.

And Edmund smiled, despite the terrible cold which enveloped him and the weight of his sodden clothes dragging him down. He pushed yet harder, forcing his body to move forwards against the rushing torrent which fought so hard to send him hurtling down into the depths of the river.

Not yet.

He had one more thing he had to do.

Edmund could feel his strength leaving him, and turned frantically to see he was a good way away from the boat, where he could just make out Peter, staring after him with terrified eyes. A dark shape loomed below him, and Edmund broke his brother's china blue, tear filled gaze to meet two crimson eyes glaring menacingly up at him.

Edmund felt no pain, no fear, no…well, perhaps a little sadness.

He never did tell Peter he loved him, in so many words. But he thought, he hoped…even a little…that Peter understood, somehow.

Edmund's limbs failed him, and he slipped downwards below the rushing skin of the river, his world turning to darkness. It wouldn't be long now. The icy cold pressed oppressively against him, and his lungs began to burn.

He welcomed the chilling tendrils of ice which wrapped slowly, almost lovingly, around his heart, and squeezed.

But he was not afraid, even as it consumed him.

He had made his choice.

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Peter could hardly see a thing through a haze of tears.

He just couldn't stop. No matter how he tried to tell himself, force himself, he just couldn't stop crying.

His little, baby brother was out there. In the water. About to die a horrible, horrible death within the murky depths, alone.

For Peter.

'_For me.'_

And Peter screamed. He trembled and cried in anguish, every hurt, every pressure, every pent up emotion streaming from him in a rush of pure agony.

"_**EDMUND!"**_

He leant right out over the side of the boat, helplessly tearing the water apart with one hand as though it would somehow unearth dark hair or somber, dark eyes. He wanted nothing else. He needed nothing more.

He would have _died _in that moment, just to have Edmund beside him again.

He dug his hand into the side of the boat until he could feel the bones splinter under the pressure. He stared about the dark waves so quickly he swayed on his feet, head spinning.

And the tears still poured down his cheeks, the only release the pain could find within Peter's broken body.

"No…Edmund…no, no, no…"

He whispered hoarsely to himself, the waters slowly calming about him. And then he slowly raised his head, and stared upstream.

And his eyes met Edmund's. He couldn't breath. He couldn't think. His heart had stopped beating in his chest, waiting. He only continued to murmur to himself, his voice failing him as it faded to a mere sigh.

"Edmund, Edmund, Edmund…"

He began to choke on his own breath, slumped over the side of the boat, barely able to hold his head up. The world span wearily about him. He sobbed wretchedly, the tears still falling without resent. He could see nothing but Edmund's cold, blank, painfully accepting dark eyes.

And then, little Edmunds eyes fluttered closed as though he was still a child drifting off to a peaceful sleep, and he slipped below the rim of the waking world and into darkness.

And Peter's tears froze in their tracks, as though turned to ice.

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Cifel felt the bond with the eldest son of Adam sear with excruciating pain, then fade. He glanced frantically about the mass of chaos below him, seeking any living creature, the flash of metal in the sun, anything.

The rays of midday beat down upon him like a curse, making sweat run down his forehead and his body unbearably warm.

The bonds were destroying all three of them.

Cifel hissed, cursing the witch's cunning. If he had only interpreted the spell correctly, none of them would be cursed. The eldest son of Adam's mind would not be plagued by darkness, and the youngest…well, Cifel could only hope.

Just a little.

He wished it was enough.

Suddenly, a terrible scream of anguish ripped through the air like a knife, and Cifel found himself paralyzed, falling through the air towards the water below. He righted himself just in time, wings out of joint and severely weakened, just inches above the heaving mass of liquid below.

He looked up, and saw the small boat thankfully still intact, with two occupants standing staring frantically at the water around them.

Unfortunately, one was most certainly not a Son of Adam.

So where…?

He caught sight of a small, limp figure drifting in the undercurrents below him, and cursed violently. He knew that northern wind was no coincidence. Seconds mattered here. Just a few more moments, and it could be too late.

Gathering his aura about him, Cifel crossed his hands before him and sent a pulse of his own life force plummeting downwards, towards the creature which was just resurfacing feet away.

It howled in agony as the magic shocked the chimaera like electricity, boiling its blue reptilian blood in its veins.

Suddenly, a thought which was not his own drifted across Cifel's consciousness.

_Pe…ter…Pet…er…!_

Apparently the bonds had tightened considerably now, due to the heightened tension. Cifel gritted his teeth and whirled about to face the boat where the eldest son of Adam stood shakily; tear stained and weak, but still standing.

Cifel could sense his mental turmoil, the torrent of emotions pounding at the defenses he had built in his mind, and he growled then called across the water.

"Son of Adam! _There is still time!_"

And Cifel heard another voice, a different voice, a hoarse and weak but nevertheless perfectly clear tone.

**I still...I can still...I still have time...**

**There's still hope...as long as...we're...together...**

He felt a surge of extremely powerful energy from the boy, and blinked as a gust of aura signature flew past his face. He heard a distinct disturbance in the water, and turned just in time to see the eldest son of Adam disappear beneath the surface of the water.

So this was the true power of love?

It felt so _warm…_

And then, Cifel cried out and clutched his head as a multitude of voice suddenly shattered his defenses, and thoughts not his own swirled around his head.

Finish them! Finish them! Kill them NOW!

Yessss…yesss misstresss…I kill them soon…

**Edmund…you won't be dead, you can't be dead, I won't let you! I can't…I won't…**

_Pe…ter? Peter? No…what…? No, I don't want…you go on! I have to die, I have to pay, I have to pay for my sins! I'm…not…strong enough…I'm so tired…cold…Pe…ter…m'cold…_

Forget the young one, kill the golden! KILL HIM!

Yesss…I…kill…

There was a sudden tear which appeared in the water, and a trail of crimson blood welled from the dark liquid and oozed across the surface; as though the river itself were a wound and could bleed.

Silence.

_PETER! **NO!**_

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Peter's hand was inches away from clasping Edmund's limp, drifting one in his own, when out of nowhere a dark shape whipped through the water. Peter caught a glimpse of shining, zinc coloured scales and sharp spines before he was flung upwards, wrenched away from the river bed.

And from Edmund.

He watched his own tears of frustration, pain and despair meld with the water around him, and closed his eyes tightly as a dull pain engulfed his torso; he spun slowly in the water, senses dull and inwardly screaming.

And somehow, inexplicably, a faraway voice spoke, echoing about the recesses of his mind.

_PETER! **NO!**_

**Ed…mund…?**

And then there was nothing but darkness.

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**This is Peter thinking, **_This is Edmund thinking, _This is witch thinking, this is just normal chimaera thinking.

Anything else would be telling!

**A/N: Yet ANOTHER cliffie! (Sniffs) I am so mean to poor Peter…going insane twice in one day, my poor little abused character…and Edmund! How could I? Why? How could I do this!**

**Cifel: (whispers) Angst.**

**Oh, yes. (Clears throat) Yes. All in the name of angst. The poor boys have reached their breaking point. Time for some well earned mental healing, I think. For a little while, at least. Cifel is joining our little party for a while, too, to look after the boys. Awfully nice of him.**

**Cifel: (glowers) Nice, pah! Personal gain…**

**Yes, things will calm down for the next few chapters. Lots of calming fluff. I, myself, am exhausted with all this tension. I wrote this chapter in a rather strange style, because Peter's pov was slightly mental, and Ed's was too, in his disturbingly calm, accepting way. (Shudders) Gives me the creeps.**

**The whole BOND thing: Ah, yes, that. Re-read the poem, gather the clues within the text. See if you can figure it out. **

**Anyway, with every review I'll give Peter and Ed another hour's recovery time for the next chapter. Come on, people! Seriously fatigued little boys here…**

**Peter and Edmund: (fast asleep)**

**(squeals) Aw…**


	28. Chapter twenty eight

**A/N: Righto…I will try not leave a cliffhanger in this one. For the next few chapters, we'll have a bit of relief from the angst and some well earned fluff. I would like to thank my reviewers for their seemingly undying loyalty! (Sniffs) I am not worthy…**

**Oh, and I notice 'nice' Cifel is rather popular…I wonder what I should do about that? Hmm…**

**Oh well! On with the drama…**

**This the witch thinking**

This chimaera thinking

Chapter twenty eight

Faces.

Hundreds upon hundreds of faces. Light faces, dark faces. Gentle faces, angry faces, hazy faces, faces clear as day.

China blue, silver grey. Mossy green, ocean deep. Frostily grey, mountain steep.

A red bucket, green ribbon, billowing in the wind. Flowers of blue, eyes of blue, oceans blue, cold, dead blue. Blue.

China blue.

Forget me nots.

Peter.

Even though he drew no breath, and his heart beat slower with every second, Edmund frowned, and slowly, carefully opened his eyes.

And Peter was there. Drifting like a corpse above him, eyes half closed, staring downwards with desperation, helplessness, and salty tears streaming from those china blue orbs and losing themselves within the water.

_PETER! **NO!**_

**Ed…mund…?**

And then his older brother's eyes fluttered shut, and he fell a few feet down in the water, his golden hair dancing about his head like a halo, his face slowly turning a sickly blue.

Edmund screamed a soundless scream, and reached out, warmth dispersing the icy tendrils about his heart, setting its beat racing through his veins.

No…

Edmund would not _lose_ again, would not _fail. _He wouldn't. He couldn't. He had sworn he would never let Peter down again, now, or ever.

And Pevensie's never broke their promises.

The warmth surged through him, and he flew upwards, kicking his legs with all the strength he possessed, as the water once again began to toss and turn about him.

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"Perfect. Just peachy."

Cifel muttered distractedly, as he dove into the cool depths once more and made another grab for the creature's fin. He sensed something…odd. The creature wasn't at all right.

He could sense a dark presence within it…could his earlier suspicions have been correct?

If so…

Cifel dived again, this time reaching out with a specific target clearly in sight. Sure enough, his hand soon closed around a huge, razor sharp fang within the creature's mouth, and it shrieked as Cifel tugged sideways with all his might, drawing on the river's strength to aid him.

He heard the torment within the creatures mind, and felt a rush of pity, but could not fathom how. He had lost his heart to the darkness long ago…but, he supposed, it had been no more than a vessel.

**FOOL! Bite him! KILL him! Kill the ANGEL!**

I…why…I…kill…I no…kill…

**NOW!**

Cifel grinned, a triumphant rush filling him. So. This was her ploy. Puppet magic…how very…careless. Such an unpredictable form. But, surely…she was not this foolhardy. No, there was something deeper.

But he had no time to dwell on that now. He had to end this poor, confused creature's suffering.

But, to do that…he had to break the witch's magic…

He had tried once, upon a gathering winter, long ago. And had failed. But that world had been dying, cold, a world without light, a world without hope. Now…it was alive. Lucifel could feel it draw breath, feel its joyous life pulse in its very core. His charge, his realm, lived.

There was still hope.

And with that realization, Cifel let out a strangled cry as he felt all of his old strength flow into him, forging a centre of consciousness in the void in his chest. He gasped, as he felt the warmth return. His wings ceased their aching, and he saw a swirl of black feathers rise high up above him, and fly away on the wind's breath.

A deep, blinding white light gathered about him, and he felt…strong. So purely strong. He smiled, and plucked a single, soft white feather from his right wing.

He clenched it in the palm of his hand, and a soft breeze blew gently against his cheeks. He slowly opened his hand, and a long, thin blade emerged, growing and contorting, melding into a weapon in midair.

At its hilt, the roaring head of a Lion.

Cifel gazed at it, and could almost see the warm amber eyes glowing with pride. He blinked slowly, and gazed down at the stunned creature.

'Little child of the sea…are you in pain?'

The chimaera's eyes faded from crimson to an icy coloured green, and it blinked and raised its head uncertainly.

Yesss…I…hurt…

Cifel smiled gently, and it seemed so right, so real, upon his face that he couldn't help a small shiver of happiness. He had forgotten…this.

He understood.

What it was to love…his love for his land, his people…was worth any hardship he could have possibly endured.

Had the witch made him forget, as she had done so Edmund? It all seemed so simple, yes so clouded now…

'Then allow me to free you.'

Cifel drew all of his power about him, and thrust his newly forged sword across the creature with a cry of pain as the strength fled him, flying across the icy barrier which had been erected about the creature.

He could hear as each string of the witch's magic snapped, and the sound echoed about like the reverberation of a gong, and the creature fell limp into the water, weak, but thankfully still alive. Its eyes dulled to a twinkling, forest green.

Thank…you…Lord…Lucifel…

Cifel dropped down beside the creature's head, placing a hand between its wide, grateful eyes, and smiled.

'You are entitled, chimaera. May you do me a small penance?'

Yesss…Lord. I will…

Cifel looked across, to see the youngest son of Adam break the surface, his older brother draped over his back like a rag doll. Cifel shuddered as Edmund floundered, face pale but cheeks flushed, as he took great gasping breaths and slipped below the waterline again. He didn't seem to care for himself as long as Peter's head stayed above water.

The eldest himself looked very much dead, but Cifel could feel the pulse of his heartbeat and his jagged breaths through the strengthened bond. They were erratic, but strong.

Cifel heard again, that echoing, desperate voice.

_Peter? No…don't…I said I wouldn't let you die! You can't…please…Peter, I…love you…you hear me?_

_You can't die, because…because I love you too much to let you…_

_I'm so selfish…_

Cifel urged the chimaera forward with a gentle nudge of magic, his own legs trembling from the exertion of breaking the witch's magic. If he moved a muscle, he felt he would black out…and the world had begun to spin in lazy circles…

My…Lord…? You are unwell…

'No, chimaera…please…the Sons of Adam…get them safely to the shore…and the dwarf, too…'

They did it together. Chimaera took Cifel over to the two limp bodies, the youngest now barely conscious, but still clutching his brother and determinedly holding him up above the water. Cifel smile weakly and hoisted both boy's up onto the chimaera's head, breathing heavily as he closed his eyes tightly. Black spots whirled about his vision.

The youngest's eyes briefly sought his own, wild confusion and grief burning in their dark depths. Cifel looked away, swallowing heavily. They were only _children. _Although they were strong, they were not infallible.

But from what Cifel had learnt, hardship was what forced them to grow stronger. An ironic twist of fate, indeed.

All three were gently nudged onto the bank beside the now calming river, and the chimaera swiftly left to retrieve the now thoroughly petrified dwarf. Cifel clambered shakily to his knees, pulling both of the Sons of Adam onto their backs, the youngest immediately coughing weakly, and attempting to get up, desperately trying to reach his brother. Cifel placed a hand on his shoulder, staying his panic.

"He's…"

Cifel swallowed. His voice was quavering, reflecting his own exhausted state within. He smiled shakily, to which Edmund's eyes widened.

"Your brother's…fine, Edmund. Just fine. We all are."

Cifel reached over, and placed two hands on Peter's chest, then pressed down, hard. Immediately, the boy began to convulse, and shot upwards. His younger brother caught him, holding him up with the little strength he had left as Peter coughed up the water he had swallowed.

For a few moments, they all sat, and trembled.

Then the eldest Son of Adam's clear blue eyes began to flutter shut, and he sank into his younger brother's side, and Edmund, still spasming from the exertion, sunk to the floor with his brother's head cradled against his chest. For a few minutes, silence reigned, and the world continued to spin about them.

Soon, their breathing quieted from harsh sobs to soft gasps.

Cifel's hands shook violently as he extended his palms, carefully crossed, above the two bodies and gritted his teeth as he used the last of his strength to heal them. Small, golden threads of light twined down from his fingertips and sunk gently into the Sons of Adam, a small hiss and a gentle sigh the only indication that the magic had, indeed, worked.

Edmund wrinkled his nose, and sighed softly in his sleep, his hand subconsciously curling itself in his brother's hair.

Cifel barely repressed a smile, instead forcing a scowl as his wings faded and his elbows gave way. He too sank to the ground beside the two boys, just barely managing a last, choked comment.

"Stupid…humans…"

But Cifel's eyes rolled backwards in his head, and he slumped to the ground unconscious before he could finish his train of thought.

In the peaceful quiet of the dying day, as the sun set over the horizon and cast long shadows across their broken forms, you could almost feel the world lay itself to rest; and if you listened very, very carefully, you would hear the far off voice of a little boy, tears rolling endlessly from china blue eyes.

And if there was anyone to listen, they would have heard his words weave a calm, relieved blessing over Edmund's sleeping face.

"…_thank you, Edmund…thank…you…"_

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Aslan's eyes snapped open, as a sudden pulse of fiery energy surged through the bones of the land. He felt it flow from the living, breathing grass beneath his feet and fill his body with a familiar, tingling power.

The great lion raised his head and looked out across the hills towards the source, and saw a fading web of light spiral down from the deep bowl of the sky and cover the land with a light, creamy gold coloured shower.

He knew the rituals such as this well.

Long ago, they had been used by guardians of the realm to re-awaken the land in Spring, drawing it out of its deep, refreshing slumber. A quite contrasting ritual placed the land into a deep sleep as Autumn ended and Winter fell, and a cold, inky black shadow encompassed the land until the necessary darkness had passed.

Strangely enough, Lucifel had adapted such rituals for his own purposes, using them to test the valour of possible knights for the realm and as an outlet of his own emotions. Lucifel had always been quite an unorthodox angel.

Which was perhaps why he was so suited to this land; after all, it was quite the dearest realm to Aslan's own heart. It had been the first which had been created; by his own hand (or paw) no less.

Lucifel had understood the delicate balance of the light and the darkness. Day and night, shadows and blazing sunshine. Such things could not exist without the other to contrast against them. He had embraced, and maintained such a prosperous balance to its full potential.

But he had slowly forgotten how, and lost the will to fight, to love.

And Aslan supposed he himself was more to blame than any other; and thus, Lucifer had been born. The land cowered and shriveled to a dry wasteland, reflecting the very centre of its guardian's grief.

And so a plot had been devised.

It had been dangerous. A gamble. Like the precarious edge of a knife, one slip and all was lost. But it was working. The land was slowly returning to its former glory, the sky clearing of its melancholy barrier, the grass swaying a fresh green in the healthy Spring breeze.

The land breathed easy once again.

And so, too, did its creator.

And with a joyful leap of his heart, Aslan threw back his head, shook his mane and roared with rapture, and love. And the land rose, and rallied beside him, eager to join the battle.

Willing to gamble all, and perhaps give all, in the well fought fight.

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**I can feel a WAR approaching, and I don't mean the one over who eats the last strawberry yogurt which I am bound to be an unwilling part of…**

**A/N: The fact that Simon (the little boy mentioned at the end of the Cifel sector) is crying indicates the trials of Edmund's love. Simon also sort of represent's Peter's pain, now, too. Well, he is rather useful…**

**Cifel is now almost officially redeemed. Don't worry though; he'll still be his sarcastic, grumpy self. **

**Cifel: (humphs) grumpy, indeed…hot tempered, certainly but _grumpy!_**

**Yes, well (yawns) long day, exams abound. Be a good Samaritan, leave a review and make a severely depressed person's day. Oh, and I may just give you a hint for the sequel too…if it's a LONG review…**

**Hint hint…**

**Cifel: Why the hell are you still reading! Review, or face my wrath! (waves REALLY sharp pointy sword dramatically)**


	29. Chapter twenty nine

**A/N: Wow, this is becoming like daily life…run home from school, get on computer, read reviews, plot gleefully, write chapter. How nice to finally have a proper daily routine!**

**I won the strawberry yogurt, by the way. It wasn't easy…**

**Anyone who knows where I could get some Narnia quotes from the movie would be greatly revered! I can't remember half the stuff I wanted to use as inspiration…help?**

**I also now own Prince Caspian on cassette tape! Bought it from the BBC…I recommend you go read it. Although it doesn't go into half as much details as I seem to, it has some nice Edmund Peter brotherly love (everybody aw!)**

**And now, I present…**

Chapter twenty nine

_Dear Mum,_

_We finally arrived at the Professor's house at about quarter past four yesterday, though I suppose by the time you read this it'll be weeks ago. The journey was fine, if a little boring. Susan studied her chemistry books, Lu read the new books you bought her. I think she's close to finishing them now, but she really enjoyed them and wants me to say thank you for her._

_I am a little worried about Edmund. He seems to be taking the whole thing rather much harder than I expected. I do try, Mum, but it's so hard when he won't listen to me. He wants so much to be…well, in truth I'm not sure. I want to help so badly, but he only wants you, or Dad. Have you received news from him? Is he alright? And yourself? Are you well?_

_It rained the first proper day here. I got a bit of a headache, but otherwise I was fine. We keep hearing terrible reports over the wireless, and I can't tell you how worried we all are. Susan especially spends hours holed up with a book. Not that she doesn't usually, but this is different. I know. And Lu…well, she's been acting a little strange. I think she's just homesick, though, so don't worry Mum. I'll look after them. Yes, even when Edmund is a brat._

_The professor is a little strange, but nice enough. We have our very own whip master in the form of Mrs Macready. She's a beast, and is very strict, and has a strong Welsh accent rather like Grandmother's. It is very different here, but the countryside is lovely and the fresh air is doing wonders for all our health. The food is much more wholesome, too._

_We're all missing you so much, but don't worry, Mum. We are happy here, and I'm sure the others will come around. As for me, I'm trying my very best to reserve judgment and stay cheerful. It does get a little hard, sometimes. But I promised you I'd look after them, and that's what I'll do. I won't let any of them come to harm if I can help it, and yes, I've still got plenty of medicine left. I spoke the gardener, and he says he has precisely the right herbs in the garden to make some more. I also wrote to the local doctor, and he was very helpful._

_I hope you'll be able to come visit sometime, and that both you and Pipsie are well. How's her molting problem shaping up? Lu and Susan send their love, and I know Edmund misses you dearly. _

_Your loving son,_

_Peter_

Helen Pevensie forced a wavering smile and smoothed the slightly yellowed, creased paper with a gentle hand. She looked to the ashes in the dying fire, seeing dancing figures taunt her with fading vigor. The news of her husband's death now lay within the grate, growing cold and shriveled.

Like her own heart.

She tried to think of her children, of Peter trying so hard to bring them back safely. The least she could do was prepare them a safe and relatively happy home for when they returned.

But how would they live without Henry?

She would have to get a job. And what of the school funds? Peter and Susan both had a scholarship at different halves of 'St Lewis institution of Creative Arts', but there was no guarantee Edmund and Lucy would pass the initiation exam. Then what would they do? If she was working, who would care for the home? Who would visit her mother on Sundays?

She would have to send them away; to boarding school. She had a small account set aside for such an emergency. If she was careful, she could get by for a few years if they were fed and clothed by the school trust.

But it would break her heart; she was already so heartbroken by sending them away for just a few months. And who knew how long the war would last? It could go on for years. Her children…would come back older, wiser. Peter might even be an adult, Susan too…her babies…

Something soft brushed up against her limp hand, and she smiled fondly down at the spindly form of the creature, gently picking her off the floor and settling the grey coloured cat in her lap.

She stroked trembling, bony hands over the cat's soft fur, feeling each bone in the creature's spine. It began to purr appreciatively, staring up at her with contented amber eyes.

"Oh, Pipsie. What are we to _do?"_

She bit her lip as the pain redoubled in her chest, as she caught sight of the broken picture frame, lying face down on the dresser beside her.

Her children…no longer had a father.

And she no longer had a husband.

In the quiet peace of early morning, she sat beside the fire, staring out as the rain splattered almost angrily against the window. She grew so tired she barely registered the soft pitter patter of rainfall.

Or the tears pouring slowly, mournfully, down her cheeks.

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Edmund groaned, as he stirred from the deep, never ending darkness of sleep and carefully opened his eyes. He winced, and squinted as the bright rays of the sun invaded his senses. He sighed softly, and gingerly opened his eyes again. Much better.

But he still felt so tired…exhausted, even…and his whole body ached with a dull pain which seemed just enough to become aggravating.

He sighed, and moved one hand away from the soft strands of his brother's hair to rub at his eyes, and groggily levered himself up with great effort, taking care not to dislodge Peter as he did so. He smiled sleepily as his brother sighed in his sleep and turned his head to bury his face in his younger brother's shoulder.

Peter would kill himself if he could only see what Edmund saw now.

For, Edmund mused, Peter appeared positively…well…

Cute.

Edmund wrinkled his nose in disgust at his own choice of wording. But there was no denying it. Peter's golden hair, tangled but still strangely soft, was falling into his face and hiding one eye. His face was relaxed, the only movement when he crinkled his nose as he sighed and shifted. Edmund stifled a chuckle, and Peter frowned slightly at the sudden movement of his makeshift pillow.

But thankfully, did not wake.

Edmund hardly ever got to see Peter like this. Peaceful. Vulnerable, even. Peter nearly always had an impenetrable wall of fake defenses about him, protecting him from the cruelty of reality. He would smile and nod, and speak politely and only when spoken too, and people would fawn over his maturity; while he watched from behind a façade, a mask.

But Edmund always knew there was something more.

Something lingering behind that seemingly carefree gaze. Something slightly sinister. Like Peter was afraid, but didn't know how or why. He seemed…lost. Peter, who always knew exactly what to do. Edmund had always seen the uncertainty, the pain, and the suffering which Peter bore in resigned silence.

And he hated it.

But what could he have done? He hadn't a clue what to do. He had wanted to help Peter, but he was just the little brother. The brat. And Peter would never have told him, or even have admitted that anything was wrong.

But he could help him now.

Edmund smiled, too tired to think of what had passed, and carefully lay back down, carding his fingers through Peter's hair as he thought. This was far from over. They still had miles to go, and no means by which to use the river. It seemed they were in quite a fix.

And who knew what the witch had planned next?

He blinked, and frowned. He was certain he was overlooking something. Though he by no means wished to relive the last few hours, he stiffened his resolve and thought back.

He had been floundering in the water, trying desperately to keep Peter's limp form above the raging torrent of the water. His brother's head had been heavy on his shoulder, and with both Edmund's arms occupied with holding Peter upright by the waist, he had no way of treading water.

He had resorted to kicking his legs furiously, and ducking up and down, sometimes slipping below the surface in order to keep Peter from sinking. And then…a hazy blur. He couldn't quite recall how they had managed to get up on the bank…

"MORNING LADDIE!"

Edmund barely concealed a strangled squeal of terror as he physically forced himself from leaping backwards and waking Peter. He clutched his chest with one hand, and glared at the beaming, hairy face which obscured the sun from his vision.

Rabadash let out a throaty chuckle, and ruffled Edmund's hair. Edmund glowered, pouting slightly.

"How ye feeling, little lad? Not too beat up, aye? Took quite a few knocks in there."

Edmund shook his head to clear it, his heart still pounding in his ears. He fixed his hair, his grip on Peter's shoulder loosening as Peter made a sleepy sound of protest.

"Yes, I feel…fine. What happened?"

Rabadash hefted his axe up over his shoulder and puffed out his chest proudly, chin rising to jut out at an angle.

"Well, ye see, I saw ye and ye brother go down all heavy like, so I dives in and drags ye out meself! What ye got to say to that?"

"Very creative, but not entirely convincing."

Edmund blinked in surprise as a boy emerged from the dapple shade of the forest clearing about them. Then he drew in a sharp breath.

The boy had a tunic the colour of pine needles, with sleeves and leggings a lighter, healthy green. His dark hair was longer and neater than before, and his skin was much less pale, but those burgundy coloured eyes and smug expression were unmistakable.

"You!"

Cifel's smile grew lazily across his face, as he sheathed the knife he had been handling with a soft hiss. He shifted his weight and cocked his head to the side. Edmund subconsciously moved an arm around Peter's shoulders, as Peter shifted uncomfortably in his sleep.

"Me."

"Hang on a fleetin' minute! Ye know this lad, boy?"

Rabadash moved to stand between Cifel and the two boys, axe rising. Cifel raised an eyebrow and raised a single hand, and quite suddenly the axe flew out of the dwarf's grip and landed feet away with a clatter.

"I have no time for such impudence. And by the way, Son of Earth, I am over three thousand years your elder. Hardly a _lad."_

The dwarf jumped as though shocked, as Edmund's mouth fell open. Three thousand? _Three thousand!_

"Well, ye appear to me to be a mere mite. And a scrawny one, at that, ye rascal."

Cifel snorted, and folded his arms as he turned away. This was ridiculous. He hadn't expected winning their confidence to be so difficult. It…hurt, somehow, to think he had instilled such suspicious dispositions within others.

Had he truly strayed so far from his path?

"We have no time."

He said quietly after a moment, moving to stand beneath an apple tree, eyeing the ripe fruit with narrowed eyes.

"Soon the witch shall discover our escape and move to once again intercept us. We have to move."

"We? I don' recall no 'we', laddie. Last time I looked, ye were facing three disarmed enemies while holding a knife."

Cifel jumped up and grabbed the nearest apple, and turned. He opened his mouth to speak, when he felt a twinge in his bond with the eldest son of Adam. He shrugged, and took a bite of the fruit while watching the proceedings with a raised eyebrow.

This might even turn out to be…fun.

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"Hmmm…Ed…?"

Edmund jumped as he felt Peter shift off him, and turned from his perusal of the new arrival to meet his brother's lidded blue gaze. Edmund grinned and took Peter by the arm, helping him to sit up, albeit a little stiffly.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Feel alright?"

Peter's eyes widened.

"EDMUND!"

Edmund felt the wind knocked out of him as Peter grabbed him suddenly by the shoulders and began looking him up and down frantically. Edmund took Peter's hands and held them still, halting their attempted exploration of his torso to check for wounds.

"Hey! Easy. I'm fine."

Peter's eyes were clouded by the last shroud of sleep, but somehow still held a frenzied, wild tirade of emotions which Edmund could see were rapidly stirring his brother into a panic. Peter was breathing too shallow, too fast. And his hands had begun to shake.

'_I…don't…Edmund! Hurt, but…drowning…cold…now…how did this? I don't…'_

Peter began to choke.

"Woah, hold it! Come on, Peter, calm _down."_

Edmund crouched down beside his brother, moving to rub soothing circles in Peter's back, as his mother had done for so many previous incidents. He _had _to get Peter to calm down, before he became hysterical.

Because then, he wouldn't be able to breath. They had only the peppermint soaked handkerchief to ease the pressure…and that was only if it hadn't been lost in the river. It wouldn't be enough.

Edmund rested his forehead against Peter's temple, breathing in the comforting smell of peppermint and healing herbs as Peter's breathing deepened, and the choking faded to harsh gasps.

"I'm fine. I'm alright, you're alright. Everything's alright now."

Peter turned to him, eyes raw with desperate confusion, for once all the barriers stripped and all walls crumbled. Edmund stared unblinkingly back at him as Peter struggled to speak.

"But…you…we…"

Peter let out a choked noise and lashed out to grab Edmund's forearms, his eyes bearing the frenzy which Edmund had seen on the boat, when he had given up hope. Edmund shifted closer to hear Peter's hoarse, hushed tones.

"I'm…sorry…"

Edmund stared in blind shock as Peter sank forwards, shaking arms wrapping around his little brother's back, and buried his face in Edmund's shoulder. Edmund embraced him in return, marveling at the irony of the situation. It was a though he and Peter had switched places.

Although this was no simple matter of a grazed knee and a few painful tears.

"Sorry for what, Peter?"

Edmund asked quietly, sincerely at a loss at his brother's exclamation. What did Peter have to be sorry about? It was he, Edmund, who was the traitor…the cause of all of Peter's pain…

"For…for everything…"

Peter turned his face away from Edmund, so his response was muffled and indistinct by the fabric of his little brother's shoulder.

"Just…everything…"

Edmund rubbed a soothing hand up and down Peter's arm consolingly, trying to push aside his own rising guilt and despair. Peter needed him now. He could not afford to succumb to his own weakness.

"Hey, don't. I chose to jump in, didn't I?"

Peter shuddered. Edmund sighed, face falling, and glanced down at his brother.

"M'sorry, Pip."

Edmund almost clapped a hand to his mouth as soon as the endearment was out of it. He hadn't meant to…it had just…slipped out. On instinct. His face grew warm as he ducked his head to avoid Peter's questioning gaze.

As a very small boy, when Edmund first began to put names to the things he saw around him, his mother found he had a knack for invention. He would eagerly listen to her soft tones and would often repeat them at the most inconvenient moment. He had little trouble with 'dada'. He even mastered 'mama' in less than a week…but when it came to people's names he was at a loss.

He couldn't comprehend that different people had different names. All trees were trees. All dogs were dogs, and all cats were cats. But people each had a different name.

He eventually conquered 'Susan' with the contortion of 'susu' or 'susi'. But he had to go through many colourful and varied forms before he eventually overcame the obstacle of 'Peter'.

He got very frustrated when the tall, blond boy refused to look up from his drawing at the exclamation of 'pepper'. The little boy had frowned, dark eyes narrowing. His mother always said something like 'pepper' when either the cat or the boy was around. So he tried again.

"Pipper!"

This time the boy had blinked and looked up. From then on, Peter had answered to the name 'Pipper' due to his little brother's aversion to the letter T. even when Edmund eventually learnt to say it properly, it took him years to break the habit. Over time it had shortened to Pip, and their mother had commented that it was aptly named. After all, Peter Isaac Pevensie was very, very fond of apples. But he always cut out the middle with a knife; to avoid the pips, of course.

Ironically.

"You…haven't called me that in years."

Peter seemed much calmer now, and a small smile spread across his lips as he evidently recalled the little, dark haired child who had stubbornly pronounced him 'Pipper' and doomed him to years of torment from his family. Edmund flushed lightly and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"Yes, well…this place makes my head spin. M'not thinking straight, you know? Plus…I guess it IS easier to say."

Peter nodded, smiling fondly as he reminisced, before suddenly scrunching up his face and covering his mouth as he yawned widely, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. Edmund suppressed a chuckle as Peter rubbed at his eyes furiously as they stung with fatigue.

Peter opened his mouth to speak, then froze, eyes wide. Edmund stared at him in concern as Peter stared unblinkingly into the distance.

"Peter? What-"

Peter crinkled his nose and sneezed violently into his cupped hands, doubling over. Edmund leapt backwards, aghast, as Peter took a deep breath and sneezed twice more, then emitted a small moan as he straightened and rubbed his nose, sniffling.

Edmund couldn't quite hold back an amused, but fond, chuckle as Peter withdrew his crumpled peppermint scented tissue from his pocket and blew his nose, glaring dolefully at Edmund all the while.

"S'not funny."

Edmund nodded with a fake grim smile, but his face split into a grin as he carefully pulled his brother upright.

"Pipper the peppermint cold catching wonder strikes yet _again!_ And in mid Summer, no less. Very much another great feat to add to the list. Put it alongside the sniffle in the forty degree summer. "

"Much as this is very endearing…not to mention highly amusing…"

Cifel's lazy tones alerted them to their audience, and they both looked up, Peter hastily removing the handkerchief and moved back from his brother. Cifel rolled his eyes and threw them each a traveling pack.

"I would be most appreciative if we could move."

His smirk dropped and his face grew grave as he repositioned his knife to rest more accessibly on his waist belt. His crimson eyes swept over the surrounding area, noting the ominous silence with a heavy heart.

"We're running out of time."

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**A/N: Pipsie is the family cat, by the way. She was partly responsible for Peter's nickname, as Edmund would always hear Peter talking about 'Pip' or 'Pipsie' the cat and thought it was his name instead. Also, he misheard 'Peter' as 'Pipper'.**

**Cifel: I'm loved…I'm not sure…how…to…react…(brain implodes)**

**Oh, dear…(grabs screwdriver) review and he may just be fixed by next chapter. He's just in shock by the fact people like him! I myself am very proud of him…and Peter and Edmund, too, for being such long suffering canon characters! **

**I figured green suited Cifel better than blue, now he's a guardian once again. His wings are white, too. **

**Review and express your gratitude for our fabulous cast!**

**Peter and Edmund: (sit impatiently in front of email inbox)**


	30. Chapter thirty

**SORRY! My account refused to load for some strange reason…(twitches) dodgy internet connection…apologies!**

**A/N: Oh God, chapter thirty already…I really didn't expect to get this far. It's all thanks to you guys! I think we're quite close to the end now…but to keep you from despairing, here is the promised hint/preview for the sequel which I have planned. See what you can work out!**

_**Have you ever wondered how your life would change, if you had only caught that bus when trying to get to that audition? Have you ever considered whether there was a reason you fell into that puddle on the way?**_

_**Maybe if Peter and Edmund had missed that train after all…just maybe, if they had stumbled on the stairs or dropped a suitcase…none of this would have happened…**_

**Well?**

Chapter thirty

Night on the eve of battle.

No fair wind rustled across the planes. No cheerful crackling of a blazing fire, no muffled voices or laughter from the tents about her. Everything was quiet, as though all already grieved their own deaths.

Lucy shuddered.

It was so…sad. An unsatisfactory word, but appropriate, and that was how the world seemed to her at that moment. The ringing silence was oppressive, the darkness closing in on her like a smothering blanket. She took a deep breath, steadied her will, and quelled her shaking limbs.

She had just one more task to accomplish, before the cover of darkness dissipated.

As she made her way through the trees on the edges of the camp, the plants seemed almost limp and despairing as she passed. She continued on, feeling her heart ache for them.

"Miss Lucy?"

Lucy turned in surprise, as a shimmering, luminescent white figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby birch tree. Lucy saw a curious, petal covered face silhouetted against the moonlight, dark shapes dancing across the creature's face. She smiled weakly.

"Toll. What are you doing out?"

She shrugged, her body rustling quietly as she moved to stand beside Lucy, smiling sadly up at her. Lucy could tell she had been thinking on the same lines she, herself, had been.

"Just walking, Miss. Same as you. Shall we walk together?"

Lucy bit her lip, hesitating.

"Well, actually, Toll…I'd really rather you didn't."

Toll's eyes narrowed slightly, as she Lucy a skeptical one over, taking in her Mistress' traveling cloak and sheathed knife at her belt. She gasped.

"Miss Lucy…are you…leaving? Permit me to accompany you!"

Lucy tilted her head to look up at the sky, letting out a long, calming breath. She didn't have time for this. She had only a few hours before dawn broke.

"Very well, Toll. But understand, not a word to anyone."

Toll nodded enthusiastically, her leaf scattered hair bouncing up and down as she did so. She followed Lucy a single step behind as they continued on through the forest. After a few minutes, Toll hesitantly spoke up again.

"Begging your pardon, my lady…but pray…why are you going at such an hour?"

Lucy froze, her heart beating painfully fast. She had endeavored to do this alone. She could trust no other, save Aslan, who needed rest before the trials of tomorrow…but she was a little afraid. And Toll had been a good, kind guardian to her.

"Toll."

Lucy turned serious eyes upon the flower spirit.

"I have come out here to learn the truth. For many days now I have observed how the enemy seems to thwart our every attempt to gain an advantage. Whenever we move to place troops in a valley, we find her minions already there. Why?"

This was the cause of her unease, for days now. She had noticed that with every ploy to gain ground, almost immediately the witch counteracted with her own forces. It was as though she was mirroring their every move.

Toll said nothing, staring at Lucy with wide, apprehensive eyes.

"There is a traitor among us."

Toll drew a sudden breath, watching with fear in her gaze as Lucy turned and looked back towards the clearing ahead. Salem, the spy she had sent to watch the borders of the camp, had reported that a quiet commotion every night at midnight occurred in the same forest clearing.

And now it was just meters away. The moon shone right above them, indicating the hour was almost precisely twelve.

She was close now.

"And I intend to find out who it is."

Lucy had taken one step forward when Toll spoke up again.

"You may not have to look far, Lucy Pevensie."

As Lucy frowned and turned, she let out a small cry of pain as something large and heavy slammed into her temple. She crumpled to the ground as her world span and grew dark about her, dancing shadows in the clearing ahead growing fainter.

Toll smiled sickeningly sweetly, bearing down on her, her eyes turning from a clear emerald green to a deep, bloody crimson.

"She's closer than you think."

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It was no use denying it.

Edmund was, inexplicably, avoiding him.

They had been walking for hours, since early morning, passing through what Cifel had told them was Owlwood. The sun was setting now, casting luke warm beams of dying sunshine upon their sore, aching bodies. But Peter paid it no heed, instead keeping his head bowed and his hands swinging rhythmically at his sides.

It hurt.

All day, whenever Peter had moved to walk beside Edmund, his little brother had made some excuse or another and run swiftly on ahead. At first, Peter had thought nothing of it. But after a while, he began to notice the strangely guarded look in Edmund's dark eyes.

His brother had been tense, and his face nearly always set in a thoughtful grimace. Something was hidden behind those blank, wildly swirling orbs. Something Peter couldn't quite name.

The eldest Pevensie let out a long, gusty breath, and raised his head to watch the shifting yellow and orange hues of cloud above him. A smothering weight settling in his chest. Why? Why now, of all times…

'_Because you let him down.'_

The answer came unbidden, and Peter stumbled over a small hole in the ground as he lost his footing. He regained his balance half heartedly, feeling utterly wretched. He glanced up, and met Edmund's concerned gaze.

Only to see his brother quickly avert his eyes elsewhere, the walls slamming up once more.

Peter's heart sank, a terrible pain beginning to fill his chest and stomach, making him feel dizzy and nauseous. Edmund…he…

Oh, he just didn't _know._

Peter had always been able to read his brother like an open book. Small quirks, little tells which spoke volumes to Peter. A little twitch of the eyebrow, the tiniest hint of anger flickering across his little brother's face. He had always known.

But now…

He couldn't even tell why Edmund was acting in such a way.

He felt so helpless. Like he had never felt before…at a loss. He wanted so badly to help, to even gain a tiny hint as to the reasoning behind Edmund's behaviour, but he couldn't. Edmund, for the first time in his life, had turned his back on his older brother, maybe for his own good.

And it was breaking Peter's heart.

He strictly berated himself for being so weak, clenching his fists tightly until his bones began to ache. How did he expect Edmund to care, if he couldn't even look after himself? He'd been nothing but a liability to his little brother for weeks now.

He swallowed thickly as his eyes began to sting.

"Hey, laddie! Watch out for that-"

Peter let out a quiet gasp of surprise as he promptly tripped over a log which he had caught his foot under, and went crashing to the leaf-strewn ground.

"-log. Dearie me, you alright boy? No knocks to the cranium, or nuthin'?"

Peter lay there for a moment, catching his breath, his eyes stinging slightly. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the fall, or his own frustration. A hand took him by the shoulder and pulled him. Peter muttered a hoarse thanks.

He looked up, to find Edmund turning away from him as he straightened up.

He bit his lip and felt his chest constrict with emotion, the guilt rising in his stomach. He coughed dryly, and bile rose in his throat. He bent double, head on his knees, and forced the convulsions down with determination.

He wouldn't be weak.

He couldn't afford to.

Edmund knelt down beside him, unscrewing the top from the water carrier, eyes still solemnly refusing to meet his brother's. He held it up to Peter's lips, one hand going to the back of his older brother's neck. Peter closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.

"You have to drink something."

Edmund said, quietly. Peter opened his eyes to find Edmund looking him in the face for the first time. Immediately, his younger brother winced and his gaze snapped down to concentrate on tipping Peter's head back and pouring the water in.

Peter choked on it, coughing the water back up trying desperately to catch his breath. He looked up at Edmund, who held his gaze this time; but with a haunted, strangely blank look, as though he was looking straight through his brother.

Peter shivered.

He felt someone wrap warm, coarse material around his shoulders. He blinked drowsily as Edmund arranged it carefully so it covered him properly and then hauled his older brother up, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling Peter's arm around his own shoulders.

His touch was gentle, but his eyes lost none of their dark quality.

"C'mon, Pip. Gotta keep moving till dark. Not long now."

The voice was flat, soft, but emotionless. Peter sighed, feeling his legs protest as they began their march once more; Peter trying desperately not to lean against Edmund, while Edmund tried to take as much weight as possible.

It seemed they'd reached a stalemate.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund forcibly pushed his growing panic down, taking deep, calming breaths. But every time he looked at Peter, into his eyes, he was afraid of what he might see there.

His brother's despair had shaken him.

With every snapshot of those china blue eyes, Edmund felt his own betrayal, his guilt, his uselessness slapping him in the face. Peter was hurting, and try as he might, he couldn't do anything to help.

Save offer a shoulder to lean on.

And Peter didn't even want to take it. He was putting more pressure on his injured ankle because he didn't want Edmund to buckle under his weight. He didn't think his little brother was strong enough.

Edmund himself didn't know if he was strong enough. But he could bloody well _try._ Peter could grant him that small mercy.

His feet ached. His mouth was dry, and he'd used the last the water to ease Peter's cough. Every time his brother made the slightest choke, his heart leapt and he was filled with terror.

He wouldn't know what to do if Peter were to completely lapse into hysteria.

He was more terrified for Peter, than of Peter. And more afraid of himself, than of his own suffering. He wondered what would become of them were he to break down, and despair, as Peter had done.

There was a rising beast inside of him, flooding his insides with icy cold whenever his emotions fluctuated even slightly. He felt on edge. But he could not submit. If he were to despair, what would become of his brother?

He had _promised_ Peter, promised himself.

And if it meant he had to sacrifice his own emotional well being to keep that promise, he would do so.

He would do _anything._

With that sobering resolution, he hoisted Peter higher over his shoulder, taking more of his weight, and quickened his pace.

They had to reach the end of the forest by nightfall.

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This wasn't funny anymore.

At first, Cifel had thought the resolute emotional battle between the two Sons of Adam was quite amusing; just temporary. But now it seemed to be contorting into something more serious.

Neither seemed to release the other was mirroring their every move.

Even as the youngest protected the eldest, the eldest would sacrifice his own well being to make it easier on the youngest. The youngest would then blame himself, work himself into a panic, and worry the elder. The elder would then think it was his fault, and push himself further in order to aid the youngest. The eldest would then present even more signs of suffering, and so worry the younger even further.

An emotional stalemate.

A vicious circle of love, entrapping them and dooming them by their own tools of salvation. This could _not _go on. They needed to learn to cooperate together, instead of both trying to constantly gain the upper hand. Neither was weak, in any respect. But their bond was forcing them to counter themselves.

Cifel drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking his head as a warm, sunset breeze tossed his dark hair over his face. The land ached for release. It had been too cold; for too long.

He had been too cold. For far too long.

He halted at the lip of a small hillock where the trees thinned out, and snapped his head to the side, mimicking having heard a sound. He placed a hand on his sheath knife, cocking his head to the side.

His three companions halted also, looking at him with curiosity.

"You, and you."

Cifel gestured to the dwarf, who was huffing and puffing rather more than was necessary, and Peter, who looked up in surprise.

"Go over to that small stream and refill the water bottles for tomorrow. Here,"

He handed his own water carrier to the dwarf, who grumbled slightly, and moved over to the Sons of Adam to relieve them of their packs.

"Be wary. You, help me set up camp. We can go no further tonight."

The sun had indeed slipped below the rim of the horizon, inky black and purple dying the golden sunlight a deep brown. Cifel watched as the youngest reluctantly let the eldest go, and helped him a little way along.

"S'alright, Ed. I can manage, really."

Evidently the youngest didn't think so, but Peter flashed a small, reassuring smile and hurried off to catch up with the dwarf, stubbornly refusing to let the pain in his swollen ankle affect his walk.

Cifel could feel it, though.

This whole bond affair was becoming extremely aggravating. There was so much tension going on between his two charges, he might as well stand in a lightning storm and electrocute himself for some light relief. He was getting more and more agitated and jumpy, and they could not afford for such trivial disruptions any longer.

When Cifel was sure the other two were out of earshot, he spun about and straightened, folding his arms with meticulous precision. He slowly raised his gaze to meet Edmund's dark, blank eyes which he had so carefully constructed.

It was slightly unnerving.

"And **what**, exactly…"

Cifel spoke quietly, but with an edge in his voice, and his eyes narrowed carefully as his gaze bore into the other's.

"…do you think you are _doing, _Son of Adam?"

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**A/N: This was so painful to write. Almost broke my heart…the idea here is that Edmund is trying to be strong by building defenses and concentrating only on Peter, but without allowing emotions to get in the way. Basically, he's going about it all wrong. Don't worry though, I've got Cifel all geared up to give him a good lecture or two…**

**Cifel: (gleeful)**

**I bet nobody expected little, innocent Toll to turn out to be the traitor. But the question is…was she acting of her own accord? Or is a more sinister force at stake?**

**Well, duh.**

**Edmund: (dazed, staring at email inbox) wow…we're very popular…**

**Peter: (blushes) Us? Cute? Uh, well…um…(hides)**

**Cifel: HEY! I'm the manager of the A/N! Get back in the story and get angsting!**

**Peter and Edmund: (disappear with an ominous pop)**

**Read, revere, rage, relish, review! It's as simple as ABC…**


	31. Chapter thirty one

**A/N: Firstly, I'd like to give a COLLOSAL thanks to my reviewers! I think we've only got a few chapters to go, an epilogue and an after word…I've even got a sort of 'deleted scenes' and other things in the wings. This story took a lot of editing and preparation, and I thought it might be interesting for you to see what didn't quite make it.**

**Holy moly, chapter thirty one…I cannot believe how this story has grown. This chapter is dedicated to Sentimental Star, whose work which I recently read inspired me to write even better!**

**I think I am becoming rapidly obsessed…the other day, in my sports lesson, I ended up muttering to myself:**

'**For Narnia! And for Aslan!'**

**Every time I did a particularly good shot, in badminton. I got some pretty strange looks, and I think I disturbed my teacher even more than usual…**

**Ah well…**

_**This is the witch**_

_This is Toll_

Chapter thirty one

"I will do…what must be done..."

Toll raised a clenched hand, the hard leather of the handle cutting into her palm uncomfortably. She stared down at the limp, crumpled form of Lucy Pevensie, and her face grew paler.

_My lady! Get up!_

_I…can't…move…_

Toll trembled, biting her lip, the petals which formed her body fluctuating and beginning to tear. Her eyes flickered from pale emerald green to narrowed crimson. The forest clearing grew colder, a fell wind stirring the quiet of the night and bending the elements to its will.

_**Do it, you wretch! Pierce her heart!**_

Toll shuddered, petals falling from her and floating to the floor. She watched as they touched the ground, and seemed to stiffen, before frosting over with a light sprinkle of ice.

She swallowed.

A perishing cold surge of agony invaded her senses, and she gasped, as her arm burned with an icy energy. Even as she inwardly screamed, the dagger began to descend with deadly accuracy towards the Daughter of Eve's vulnerable back.

There was a soft swishing sound which joined the ringing sound of the blade's descent, and a blur of metal and wood collided with Toll's hand, and she screamed.

The dagger clattered to the floor, as a feathered arrow embedded itself in a tree nearby. The little flower spirit clutched her arm to her chest, whimpering. A tall, regal figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, skirts billowing in the cold breeze.

Toll raised her head slowly, and met the narrowed, enraged orbs of dark rosewood. She moaned as Susan Pevensie approached, her bow clutched tightly in a hand clenched with rage.

"Get _away, _you beast! Get away from her!"

Toll scrambled upright, shriveled, brown, crumpled petals and leaves falling to the ground like autumn harvest. The lingering cold simmered at the back of her mind, quietly awaiting the opportune moment.

The eldest Daughter of Eve fell gracelessly to her knees beside her younger sister, her eyes widening in fear, the fire of anger becoming overwhelmed with terror. She placed her bow down, leaning down to check her sister's breathing and heartbeat.

Toll struggled to draw breath, the pain in her arm dulling to a numb tingling. She glanced down, to see the shattered shell of her petalled hand dark and coarse. She let out a harsh gasp, curlingup and burrowing into the earth beneath her.

"Lu?"

The youngest Pevensie moaned, and her sea green eyes fluttered open. She struggled up, her hand going to the gash which spilled blood down her cheek. The two sisters shared a concerned look, then a wavering smile.

Susan brushed her sister's hair away from the gash and studied it, eyes narrowing in anger once more.

"Does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy at all, sick?"

Lucy gave her older sister a reassuring smile, sitting up straighter, then bringing her legs around to kneel up.

"No, it just stings a little. I'm okay, really."

She frowned at her sister, then looked to Toll, curled on the ground in a shuddering, whimpering ball. Then her gaze lowered to see the fallen dagger, and she reached out to take it.

"You…followed me?"

Susan smiled sheepishly, and shrugged, helping her sister to her feet and retrieving her bow. Lucy mock-glowered, then rolled her eyes and turned to face Toll, her expression growing troubled. Susan followed her gaze, her own eyes flashing and growing clouded with anger.

"Traitor! Spirit, how could you!"

Susan made to raise her bow, but Lucy laid a gentle hand on her sister's arm, her brow furrowing. She stared at the shuddering flower spirit, feeling no anger. Only disappointment, hurt, and perhaps a little confusion.

_My Lady…please…help me…there is something-_

The echoing, tinny voice was cut off abruptly, and a strong northern wind suddenly picked up. Lucy glanced up, her eyes narrowing further, suspicion growing. She took Susan's hand and cautiously approached the small figure, lying sprawled on the ground.

"I thought I heard…"

She blinked, as Toll raised her head, and Lucy gasped as she saw a flickering spark of emerald green pollute the wretched crimson with despair. Her hand tightened about Susan's.

"Lucy? What is it?"

Lucy raised a hand to indicate for them to halt. She leant down, watching intently as the fearsome dispute in the snowdrop spirit's eyes conflicted violently.

One last flicker of green, and crimson triumphed.

Toll let out an animalistic hiss and suddenly leapt to her feet. Lucy and Susan watched in horror as Toll snarled, and shook her body, the cascade of petals and leaves frosted over with a sheen of ice. A cruel smile curled the little spirit's lips, and a harsh voice which seemed strangely detached sounded from her open mouth.

"_**Mark my words, Daughters of Eve…"**_

Toll laughed a sharp, ringing, mocking laugh which struck unease into the two sister's hearts. Lucy winced, and moved back slightly as Toll shuddered, and fixed cold red eyes on her.

"_**Though you thwart me here, you shall not escape me a second time. Events are now in motion which cannot be turned…and your pitiful plight is beginning to bore me."**_

Toll cocked her head to the side, the sick smile fading from her face to form a blank, glowering expression.

'_**This is far from over.'**_

There was a shrieking, crackling sound, and Toll was submerged in an explosion of crystalline shards of ice. A bitter surge of cold air was thrust outwards across the clearing, and the two sisters fell to their knees as it stung their bare skin.

There was a ringing silence, as the wind sighed and fell.

"…Lady…Lucy…?"

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"What…what do you mean? I-"

A warm, sunset breeze ruffled Edmund's hair as Cifel fixed him with a grim frown. The shadows cast by the sun bathed them both in a glowing yellow light, dapple shade from the trees above casting disfigured shapes about them.

"Son of Adam…"

Cifel sighed and lowered his head, seeming suddenly very tired to Edmund. He stared as the other pinched the bridge of his nose in aseemingattempt to gather his scattered wits.

"I understand that you want to help your brother, but-"

Edmund felt anger rise in his chest.

"How could you _possibly _understand! You…your…"

Edmund trailed off and turned away, watching the dirt track where Peter and the dwarf had left. He was so tired…he just wanted them to be safe. And together. That was all he had wanted for a while now…

But more than anything, he wanted Peter to smile again.

"I too have suffered, and still suffer, for the sake of love. It is part of what makes it so sweet, and yet so bitter."

Edmund felt rather than heard Cifel come to stand beside him, clothing shifting as the other folded his arms and drew a deep breath which sounded just as exhausted as Edmund felt.

"I too wish for my loved ones to be safe…"

Edmund glanced up at the other through dark strands of hair which danced in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. Cifel appeared impassive, but a small quirk at the corner of his mouth and a glimmering in his eyes told Edmund he was not completely unmoved.

"Understand, Edmund Pevensie. There is more than one way to kill a man."

Edmund jumped as though he had been struck, his head snapping around to look at Cifel skeptically, eyes narrowing. His heart began to pound against his ribcage.

"What do you mean by that?"

His own voice came out slightly less steady than he would have liked, but he brushed his own dignity aside, choosing to favour his incomprehension above his pride.

Cifel turned smoldering, stormy green eyes on Edmund, shifting hues of grey signifying a gathering storm.

"You are breaking his heart."

Edmund drew a sharp breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He swallowed as his mouth grew dry, and his defenses wavered as his eyes began to sting. He had resolved to grow stronger. He had to.

"It is not the way; by distancing him in order to concentrate only on reality, you are condemning him to a slow, agonizing death."

Edmund stiffened as Cifel turned his gaze back to the darkening horizon, the wind picking up, growing colder as the night drew closer.

"I realize you act with noble intent, but you are not helping either of you. Nor me, or Narnia, for that matter."

They stared unblinkingly at each other, Edmund now listening intently. He did feel, somehow, that he was acting only on an instinctive defensive response…but what else could he do?

"He loves you."

Edmund blinked.

"And you love him. Both as deeply and as truly as the other. And I cannot see how you could have created such chaos from lack of comprehension on that simple fact."

Edmund lowered his head, his heart racing painfully fast as the emotions he had suppressed threatened to overwhelm him. He stood on stiff legs, his whole upper body shaking.

"Tell me how."

He turned sincere, serious eyes upon the elder.

"I don't know what to do. Please."

Cifel looked at him with an apprehensive, wavering expression bordering on pity. He turned away, breaking Edmund's desperate gaze.

"You must have faith in yourself; and find the strength for both of you."

Cifel looked back over his shoulder and fixed Edmund with a piercing stare.

"You are Edmund Pevensie; slayer of Galgorus and Fenris Bane. Knight, and future King of Narnia, the Just of Heart."

He turned again, his dark hair shifting slightly in the dying breeze. His shoulders stood squared, resigned.

"Either accept your destiny, and gain strength as you grow…or perish, with all that is left of your kin."

Edmund thought of Peter; of Susan, and Lucy. His mother, his father. Everything he had ever held dear to him. There were forces in this world which threatened to snatch it all away from him in a heartbeat.

"Believe, Edmund.Trust in yourself, have faith in your heart, and find strength in your love."

The sun slipped below the horizon, the trees casting long shadows over the warmth of the day, and Edmund watched in quiet reflection as Cifel walked away to tend to the packs.

And he smiled.

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_Dear Daddy,_

_I know I said I wouldn't write; and I'm sorry. I don't mean to be such a beast all the time, I just…can't stop myself. It's who I am. I'm not sweet hearted, like Lucy. I'm not gentle or beautiful, like Susan. And I'm not perfect, like Peter._

_I'm just Edmund. And I'm sorry that's all I'll ever be. I'm sorry it's not enough. I'm sorry I haven't been a good son, or a good brother. I'm trying, I really am. I'm sorry I can't try hard enough._

_Sometimes my best is just not good enough._

_I didn't want to burden you with this, but I feel it is my own shame to bear; and I cannot lay the blame at any of the other's feet. That would be just too cruel._

_Susan and Peter keep arguing; it's horrible. They've never fought before. Susan is so cold, so distant. And Peter…well, he's afraid. For himself. For all of us. And that makes me frightened. If Peter can't find the strength, how on earth can I?_

_Even Lucy isn't as happy nor cheerful as she usually is; and me being me, I lashed out at her as I always do instead of putting my arms around her like I want to. Oh, Daddy. Why can't I be strong?_

_I want so hard to be strong._

_Peter's fallen asleep at the desk; his head is buried in his arms and he keeps muttering and shifting. I think he's having a nightmare. I want so much to just go over and ward them away…provide shelter, salvation, something to stop him from hurting._

_But I can't._

_I can't even gather the courage to drape the picnic blanket over him, even though it's covering my own perfectly warm torso, while he is shivering. Because I'm just Edmund. _

_He has them every night, tossing and turning. I can hear him from my room. Neither of us ever sleep much. We both see the dark smudges beneath the others eyes, but never say anything._

_Oh, Daddy. I wish so much that you were here, could hold us like you used to. Make all the hurt and the pain seep away in your warmth._

_But you're not._

_And you can't._

_And I hate you, but then hate myself, because of it. I'm so tired. I'm so confused. I feel so cold, sometimes I wonder whether the world would lift a finger if I just didn't bother to draw another breath._

_I will never send this letter, because I don't know where you are, or how to get to you. You could be dead, you could be sleeping. But I hope that, wherever you are, you will remember your wayward son who was simply not good enough to be strong._

_I love you Daddy._

The cold, dead ashes of burnt paper and ink lingered about the fireplace; the room was dark, the discarded toys and books on the floor untouched. Thin, thread like curls of smoke rose gently from the still glowing coals in the grate.

And as the shattered, soot blackened fragments of Edmund's plea for help curled and shriveled, somewhere in a world far away a little boy became a man, and found a shelter from the endless storm.

And Edmund felt more at peace than he had in years.

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**In case the last section was confusing, I will explain: the letter was written by Edmund when he was feeling down, the night before he follows Lucy into the wardrobe. He was sitting in the small room we see them in on the rainy day in the film, and Peter had been trying to study and fell asleep. Once Edmund finished the letter, he waited a few moments, then tossed it into the fire.**

**The idea here is that he wants so desperately for somebody to understand, and to understand others, that he feels he needs release. He doesn't know how to say it, so he wrote it down. But his pride means he will never allow anybody to read it. He would feel too vulnerable.**

**Anyway, after his little 'talk' with Cifel, he understands a little better.**

**Did that make sense?**

**A/N: Yay, go Susan! I've wanted to give her some action for ages. I love archery, though I'm not terribly good at it. Edmund is feeling a bit better now, but as for Peter…hmmm…angst for a bit longer, I think.**

**After all, we want lots of pent up pain ready for-**

**Oops, that's a secret (sticks tongue out).**

**Cifel: You're really evil. I think I'm beginning to like you.**

**Thanks for all the help with quotes and feedback on the sequel hint! You guys are the best. **

**Review for Narnia! And for Aslan! (not to mention Peter, Edmund, Cifel and all the others, and of course…me!)**


	32. Chapter thirty two

**A/N: This chapter is quite deceiving…well, you'll see what I mean by the time we get to the end. I've judged that the story will go onto 40, 40 being the epilogue. After that…well. We'll have to see.**

**(Munches on bag of cookies from reviewer) Yes, one reviewer (you know who you are!) was kind enough to give us some much needed supplies. Unfortunately the low budget means we've all been a bit cold…so a BIG thanks!**

**And, as ever, much appreciation to my reviewers! The end is nigh!**

Chapter thirty two

If Peter thought yesterday had been confusing; he took it back. Today, he was so completely and utterly befuddled, bemused and any other term which meant, plainly speaking, that his brain hurt.

Not to mention his heart.

When he had returned with Rabadash from the river, his ankle aching with an intense pain, Edmund had immediately rushed to him and placed an arm around his waist, hauling Peter's arm over his slim shoulders.

Peter had looked at him in confusion, and Edmund had given him a strange smile. It seemed fond, apologetic, sad, gentle and yet bitter all at the same time. Too tired to ponder anymore, Peter had leant his head against Edmund's forehead and let his little brother help him sit beside the fiercely burning fire.

Edmund had then proceeded to fuss over him all evening, wrapping an excessive amount of cloaks around him and hovering at his shoulder whenever he went to do even the smallest movement.

Peter had been so relieved Edmund was no longer ignoring him, however, he had not objected to the mollycoddling. They spent a brief, quiet evening talking in hushed tones of the journey ahead, and of possible plots the witch may have devised. Eventually, Rabadash offered to keep watch while they all got some sleep.

And so Peter lay wide awake, Edmund lying beside him, their arms touching comfortably. But Peter could not sleep. His body begged for rest, but deep with his chest, his heart stung still with a restless unease.

Why had Edmund ignored him so?

Edmund had seemed so distant; his eyes had held a silent scream which Peter could still hear resonating within his head. He shivered slightly, and Edmund made a soft sound of protest in his sleep.

The he shifted, and turned onto his side. Peter watched with curious eyes as Edmund flung an arm out which collided with Peter's chest. Edmund frowned, and rolled sideways slightly, sending him tumbling against Peter's side.

Peter blinked, and suddenly Edmund's arm was wrapped around his chest protectively, his dark head laying against Peter's collarbone. Edmund sighed, seemingly content, and smiled in his sleep as his breathing deepened once more.

Peter let out a shaky breath, the pain in his heart easing a little as he reached out an arm to wrap around his brother's shoulder, drawing him closer still. He closed his eyes tightly, and allowed his head to fall against his brother's hair.

"He was afraid, you know."

Peter's eyes flew open to meet a piercing, dark green gaze. He took in a sharp breath which jostled Edmund, and his younger brother groaned and turned his head to burrow into his brother's neck.

Peter winced, and repressed the urge to reach up and scratch his neck as Edmund's hair brushed against it.

There was one sensitive spot just below his left ear, the hollow where his skull ended and his neck began. Edmund had a terrible habit of cuddling up in such a way that whenever he breathed out, Peter had to suppress a shiver.

It _tickled _something awful

Cifel chuckled. It was a deep, soft but throaty sound which sounded uncannily like Peter's father's tone. He swallowed thickly, and pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind as he watched the other prod the dying embers of the fire with a pensive expression.

"He was afraid for you. Not of you."

Cifel snapped the stick he had been using to disassemble the fire with in half, and tossed the two halves into the bushes. He glanced round to where the dwarf sat, snoring softly, on a nearby log.

Cifel snorted.

"On guard, indeed. It would take more than the entirety of the witch's army to wake that bale of hair."

Peter couldn't suppress a small chuckle at that, but his smile soon fell. Afraid _for _him? What…

"For the eldest child, you seem a little…naïve."

Peter lowered his gaze, resolutely ignoring the veiled insult. He was not going to let this immature banter get to him. Just because you knew more than somebody else, it didn't necessarily mean you were more intelligent.

Look at Susan and Lucy.

"Your brother _loves _you, and wants to keep you safe. And he'll do anything to do so."

Peter looked up at him, his heart too exhausted to ponder this properly. He couldn't take anymore hurt, any more reflections of past wrongs. He could only change the future; so he would dwell no more on the past.

"Do you understand how dangerous that could be?"

Peter turned a resolute, determined gaze upon the other, who met his challenge with a level, neutral gaze of his own.

"I would die for him first. Before he had the chance to do so."

Cifel let out an exasperated breath, and Peter lowered his gaze to look at Edmund.

"That would just kill you both. You must comprehend, Son of Adam. You gave got to give a little leeway. How can either of you watch your own back, when you are both trying to look over your shoulder?"

Peter looked up, the answer coming naturally to him.

"Then I'll watch both our backs."

"Foolish boy!"

Peter jumped slightly, and Edmund tightened his grip around Peter's chest, turning his head so they were now cheek to cheek. Cifel watched his movement with a smoldering gaze.

"Don't you see! This is ridiculous! You're going to get all of us killed, unless you climb out of your little paradise and realize that we could so easily _lose_."

Peter felt a sudden pang of pity as he saw a wild despair which he was accustomed to feeling within his own heart. This boy may be a guardian, the fallen ruler of an entire country…but now he was just a lost soul, who had forgotten how to hope.

Not unlike Peter himself.

Cifel sighed, and turned away again to brush the ashes of the fire into a neat pile.

"You watch each other's backs. No more, no less."

There was a moment of silence, as Peter pondered these words. But…well, he supposed now he thought about it…he expected trust from Edmund, but never gave it return.

Well, now was a better time than ever.

He turned to Cifel, watching his slouched position with interest.

"You are more afraid than I am, I think."

Cifel's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing to slits, and Peter inexplicably felt a sudden stab of fear which was not his own. It seemed to almost…stem…from the other. Pulsate.

"Were you scared? When you died, I mean?"

Cifel opened his mouth, hesitated, and snapped it shut. Peter listened carefully, feeling a strange connection with the other.

_He seems sincere…how could he possibly…? Perhaps…but no…that's impossible, my defenses are impenetrable…unless…_

_Can you hear me, little Prince?_

Peter jolted suddenly as the echoing voice addressed him bluntly. Cifel chuckled lightly, his lips curling up into a smug grin as a wall suddenly seemed to slam up, and the connection flickered. Then it faded.

"My apologies. I must have let my defenses down for a moment."

Peter frowned. Connection? Defenses? Had he been listening to the other's thoughts, feelings? How was that possible?

"You are curious. Well, there is no point in concealing it now, I suppose."

The emerald eyes flickered with a brief, gentle sympathy.

"We, but most especially you, are cursed. At any moment, the witch could force you to snap your own neck simply by lifting her finger, and you would do so without a second thought. How does that feel?"

His voice was flat, blunt, and emotionless. Peter's eyes widened, as the words sunk in. somehow, he had known something wasn't quite right. A lingering sense of numbing cold in his heart, which ached continuously. But he hadn't quite been prepared…for such…well…

Finality.

Or for him to only feel a small, polite sense of surprise at this information. After everything he had been through…one more peril, though daunting, seemed less terrible than perhaps it would have to the Peter Pevensie who had boarded that train so many weeks ago.

He sometimes wondered if he had left that little boy behind on the planes of battle. He wished…hoped…that maybe he still wept beside his father's cold, unmoving corpse.

And then, he felt afraid.

"You are no fool, and are wise beyond your years. But tell me; are you scared now?"

Peter closed his eyes tightly, and rested his forehead against Edmund's dark hair. He shivered, despite the warmth which emanated from his brother.

"A…little."

Cifel wrapped his arms around himself as a chill wind swept across the forest, and the leaves in the trees rustled ominously. He tilted his head upwards to the sky to gaze at the full moon.

He sighed.

"Good. You have every reason to be."

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Susan stood tall, straight backed and as regal as she could. The cold, early morning breeze was fresh and exhilarating. She felt her fingers itch with a nervous energy, and she clutched her bow tighter. Flecks of dew clung to her eyelashes, and she blinked them away irritably.

"Susan?"

Susan turned to look at Lucy, who sat upon a boulder beside her. Her hair caught in the wind, and splayed about her head like a halo. The sheathed dagger lay in her little sister's lap, and both of Lucy's hands clutched it loosely.

Ready for battle. To fight.

But what on earth for?

"Yes, Lucy?"

Lucy sighed, and pulled her cloak tighter about herself, glancing down at the droves of creatures which stood or sat in formation. They were strategically placed for the battle, each with their own part to play.

And, whether they knew it or not, Lucy also was strategically placed. From here, she could see both ends of the valley they had chosen in which to engage the enemy.

"How much longer?"

From any other nine year old, it would sound like a whine while waiting at a bus stop, an impatient request from their mother. But Lucy's voice was perfectly mature and even, and Susan swallowed as she followed her sister's gaze to the far end of the valley.

"Not long now, Lucy."

She said, before murmuring more to herself than anyone:

"Not long at all."

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The dawn had broken cold, and both Peter and Edmund were damp with dew. The Dwarf had spoken at length of his long, hard watch over them all night, at which Cifel and Peter had shared a knowing glance and rolled their eyes.

The sky was clear, and although it was cloudy, the atmosphere was thin. They settled for some apples from a convenient tree in place of breakfast, and set off. They reached the edge of the forest some time ago, and were now following the great river to find a suitable place to cross.

"Aye, aye, aye…"

Rabadash halted to wipe his sweating brow, as they all halted, some amused, some exasperated. Edmund suppressed a chuckle as Peter smiled as the little creature huffed and puffed even as he stood still.

"Come, Son of Earth. Not far to go now."

The dwarf glared at Cifel's forest green tunic, and Cifel shook his head, exasperated, but seemingly amused.

"Honestly, Thistlekin. Don't you think it's about time you dropped the act?"

The dwarf seemed to stiffen, but not in anger. Cifel, however, smiled knowingly and turned, pausing as he observed the landscape about them. He frowned. The river had reached the shallowest and thinnest point, but it was not enough to be able to cross without aid.

Edmund moved unconsciously closer to Peter as he eyed the darkly shifting waters with trepidation.

"I thought we've already been through this! Not…again. I can't."

Peter put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, recalling Cifel's words. Return trust, with trust. He shook Edmund gently, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"You can do it, Ed."

His voice was soft and sincere. Edmund blinked, seemingly surprised. Peter felt a certain guilty unease. Had he truly never told Edmund he had faith in him? But Edmund had never really needed it…

Until now.

"I know you can. Although, I'm afraid you might have to help me."

He shifted more weight off his aching ankle for emphasis, trying not to lean on Edmund more than was necessary. He wasn't sure how well he could swim with only one leg, and while wearing a heavy traveling pack. And he had no block of ice or embedded sword to help him this time.

Edmund bit his lip, and looked back to the surface of the river with uncertainty.

"But what if-"

"Och, ye won' drop im, laddie. Ye stronger than ye look, and mayhap more than even ye yerself think."

The dwarf's gruff, respectful tones filled Edmund's chest with a small sense of pride. He looked back to meet Peter's warm, fond gaze which glimmered with something Edmund had never seen before.

"I trust you, Edmund."

Edmund felt a grin split his face, and nodded, though his mouth was very dry. He wrapped his arm once more around his older brother's waist and readied himself for yet another plunge into the dark perilous waters.

They halted as Cifel raised a hand, staring with narrowed eyes down at the surface of the water.

Quite suddenly, flumes of spray flew upwards, and a split in the river formed with a soft, muffled hiss. The waters parted, revealing the pebbled bottom of the riverbed. The waves tumbled and crashed at the edges of the newly formed path, but seemed to catch themselves before they fell.

Cifel turned to flash a lopsided smile at his three companions.

"Well, it seems we still have allies in this war."

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**A/N: 'The parting of the red sea' was inspiration for the last scene. I do so like my bible references…and there are more to come! I'll explain each as we go, though, so don't worry.**

**Cifel: (crosses arms) What am I, Moses or something?**

**Nope. Lucifer, actually, but we won't get technical. And you're only a representation. Anyway…**

**I added one of my reviewers favourite words, 'flumes', in as a token of gratitude. Thanks to all who reviewed! If you review again, I may just refrain from causing too much pain for the boys when-**

**(Sticks tongue out) You'll have to wait and see!**

**Cifel: You're really evil. I think I'm beginning to like you.**

**Anyway, review, and receive just reward for it courtesy of me and CS Lewis' fabulous cast!**

**Cifel: And me!**

**(Sigh) Yes, and you. Review!**


	33. Chapter thirty three

**A/N: Ok, I've got to get this done…I keep putting the major chapter off. Gah! But I don't want to screw it up. This chapter is pretty much all the boy's centric. The girls are just sitting and waiting, really.**

**Edmund: (blinks) Uh…a reviewer gave us wood and a tinder box, and thanks, but…none of us know how to…um…use it…the dwarf keeps muttering about his beard catching fire…**

**Cifel: (snatches supplies away) Humans really _are _pathetic…**

**IMPORTANT: I understand some reviewers don't know what to say in their reviews anymore, but please carry on with your support! Perhaps add in a few bits and pieces you particularly liked, or didn't like. That way I can improve!**

**Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter!**

**ALSO IMPORTANT: REMEMBER THESE TWO DIRECTIONS CAREFULLY TO AVOID EXTREME CONFUSION:**

_This is Cifel, then later Peter after scene one_

_**This is Edmund**_

Chapter thirty three

Silence.

"They've…gone."

And he was right. Where once a glorious, prosperous encampment stood on a lush green field, only a deserted stretch of hollow valley lay. Small patches of yellowed, parched grass outlined the mocking shadows of where tents once stood.

Edmund felt his heart sink as Peter lowered his head in disappointment and slumped against him. His momentary burst of strength at the prospect of seeing the girls had gone in the blink of an eye.

Cifel scowled, staring around at the landscape with an agitated expression. He seemed to be listening intently, his eyes roving over flattened patches of grass and chiseled rock features.

"They went northwest. By night, only a few hours ago."

The dwarf huffed, swinging his axe up over his shoulder as Cifel straightened up from his knelt position and folded his arms.

"And jus' ow do ye figure that, laddie?"

Edmund and Peter shared a somewhat weak amused smile as the banter broke out. Peter took a deep breath, and closed his eyes tightly. Edmund tightened his arm around his brother's waist, and they stood in silence, each drawing comfort from the other's waning strength.

"We'll see them soon."

Edmund's voice did not come out as strong as he had hoped. Peter drowsily opened his eyes, and looked at Edmund with clouded blue eyes filled with uncertainty. But Edmund understood.

For once, Peter wasn't trying to hide his fear. He was trusting Edmund with their fate, and expected Edmund to trust in him in return.

And he did.

Peter leant his head against Edmund's, an arm going around his little, or not so little, brother's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"We'll be alright. We all will."

"Not if we never get there, we won't…"

The quiet moment was broken, and the two brothers turned to regard Cifel with almost identical frowns of annoyance. The guardian blinked, smirked, and hoisted his pack over his shoulder.

"Forming a united front, are we, boys?"

Peter and Edmund looked at each other, and simultaneously raised an eyebrow and rolled their eyes, sighing. Cifel huffed at being shrugged off so, shifting uncomfortably and turning glimmering eyes to watch the skies.

"I must leave you now."

Peter and Edmund's heads both snapped up at that, but Cifel refused to look at them. Rabadash spoke the words which neither dared to speak.

"Why, in hells name!"

The wind picked up, as Cifel's eyes clouded over, and he gazed off into the distance. Peter got the distinct impression that he could see, or hear, something which neither he nor Edmund could.

Unless…

He channeled his strength, concentrating, and listened intently.

…_but no, they shall not prevail…they are outnumbered, and I fear vulnerability from the east…they shall be slaughtered by morning if something is not done…_

Peter schooled his features to impassive curiosity. Cifel _knew _where Susan and Lucy were, what they were doing. Were they preparing to engage with the witch's forces? Were they, as he and Edmund stood here, already facing bloody, hopeless carnage?

"The Lion's forces will not suffice. We need more strength, more creatures to fight. I believe I can bring them if I leave now."

Cifel lowered his gaze to stare at his three companions, who all stood silently, surveying him. He met all their eyes in turn, his gaze lingering on Edmund as he spoke.

"Do you trust me?"

_For what reasons should they? I brought them all nothing but pain. My people, my land. I cannot even feel true to myself. _

"You go the witch's castle?"

Edmund spoke softly, and Peter looked to him in surprise. It was the first time his brother had spoken of that…place…since they had left so many days ago. He shivered involuntarily as Edmund stared Cifel levelly in the eye.

"Yes, I do. You consent then?"

Edmund's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he lowered his head in weary exhaustion. Peter tightened his hold around his brother's shoulders, allowing Edmund to make his own way.

"What other choice do we have?"

Edmund straightened, squared his shoulders, and carefully withdrew from Peter's embrace to stand before the guardian, seeming suddenly far older and more regal than Peter had ever seen him.

He extended a steady hand, which the guardian looked at, then reluctantly took. They stood for a moment, and Edmund spoke again.

"Return swiftly; betray my trust, or endanger my family…then guardian or no…"

Edmund's grip around Cifel's hand grew tight, and the bones in both their hands creaked under the pressure. He leant forward, and whispered in a hushed, dangerous voice.

"…I shall resurrect your heart and rip the beating organ from your bleeding chest."

Edmund's eyes blazed with a passionate, smoldering energy.

"Have we reached an understanding?"

Peter glanced between them, confused. He had not been able to catch what Edmund had said, but a sinister, burning gleam had appeared in his brother's eyes as he spoke. He frowned, and resolved to wait.

Cifel's emerald eyes lightened in amusement, and he pulled back, his face showing a reluctant, grudging appraisal.

"Why, Son of Adam. It seems you have a backbone after all."

He smirked, and turned, and Peter drew in a sharp breath as two creamy coloured wings emerged from the guardian's back. Cifel crouched, then hesitated as he prepared to leap.

"Understand that we both strive to protect what is dear to us, Edmund. From here on, if those two desires should conflict…you shall render yourself my enemy."

And he was gone, in a powerful flex of his wings, soaring off over the darkening fields as the clouds lowered and the smell of burning electricity filled the air.

It seemed a storm was brewing.

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Peter and Edmund sat comfortably huddled below a small outcropping in the rock face of the valley, as the rain slapped viciously against the structure above them. They watched in silence as the rivulets of water formed trailing streams which fell down before them like a cascading waterfall.

The atmosphere was unbearably tense. Rabadash had wandered off, muttering something about getting a feel for the landscape. Soon after, a torrent of rain had begun to fall, and Edmund and Peter had been forced to take shelter in a small hollow in the hillside.

So here they sat, both stiff and aching from various pains, waiting for the storm to pass.

Edmund started as a clap of thunder sounded, and a flash of sudden light filled the valley. It sounded like the very sky above their heads was tearing itself apart.

"Do you think…we'll perhaps…see them tomorrow? When the storm has passed?"

Edmund asked of his brother, not turning to look at him. He made no attempt at hiding his own anticipation, and some trepidation, at the prospect of being united as a family once again.

Peter shifted uncomfortably, and Edmund looked up at him. His brother wrapped his arms around his knees, which he brought to his chest, and rested his chin on them. He breathed out slowly, and closed his eyes.

"I…don't know, Ed. I just don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore."

Edmund turned to him, alarmed to hear that defeated tone creeping into Peter's voice once again. Weak. Despairing. Clinging to the frayed edges of sanity.

"How can you say that? We're almost there. And…"

Edmund bit his lip, his confidence in his brother's trust in him beginning to waver. How could Peter be unsure, now?

"We're together. You said…we'd be alright. As long as we're together."

He said it to encourage himself just as much as to reinforce his brother's belief. Peter still refused to look at him, staring out at the dismal tirade of rain with an utterly wretched expression on his face.

"When…when I was at the witch's castle…I…"

He turned to Edmund, confusion and questioning in his gaze. Edmund's heart leapt in sudden panic, as he realized what Peter was about to ask of him.

"Edmund…what did happen in that nightmare, in that place?"

Edmund's heart thudded painfully fast, as Peter turned away again, whispering something so quietly Edmund could barely hear it.

"Was it all a dream? It can't have been…"

Edmund stared at his brother's hunched shoulders, and watched as Peter shuddered, his lanky frame seeming to shatter and break even as Edmund watched, reflecting the turmoil within.

"Stop it!"

He grabbed his brother's shoulder and grasped it with a fist shaking with panic. He took a shuddering breath, calming himself.

"Tell me…please…what did you see?"

Peter bit his lip, and Edmund watched in fascination as it turned white then split, a well of blood seeping from the self inflicted wound.

"I…can't. I-"

Peter's voice was hushed, despairing.

"Can't? Or won't!"

Edmund felt his anger rise coupled with his fear, and his heart began to beat painfully fast. Peter closed his eyes tightly, bowing his head.

"You won't tell me what happened! I don't want to see you hurt…I…couldn't bear it…not again…"

"You'll hurt me more if you hurt yourself! Peter…please…tell me. What did you see, when…"

Peter raised his head and looked at Edmund, and Edmund started at the raw _pain _he could see in his brother's eyes. Fear and anger were flooded with concern, and he shifted closer.

"I…can't, Edmund….it hurts too much…"

Edmund's eyes narrowed, and he was struck with sudden inspiration. His father had always said 'a problem shared was a problem halved'. Peter couldn't possibly argue with their own father's logic.

"Then tell me! Daddy always said-"

"NO!"

Edmund jumped as a wild terror filled those wild blue eyes, and Peter's voice rose and broke. He was breathing heavily now, his face filling with a quiet desperation.

"Edmund…I…no…if you don't tell me what happened at the castle, I shan't tell you…well, it hardly matters…"

Edmund shook his brother, hard.

"HARDLY MATTERS! Peter, you're killing yourself over this. We're killing each other. But I can't tell you, no more than you believe you can tell me. But I…I'm stronger now. I can shoulder the weight. Please?"

Blood spilled from the cut and trickled down Peter's chin.

"I…"

Peter hesitated. Edmund felt a terrible pain fill his heart as disappointment filled his chest like lead.

"You still don't trust me? You still doubt…you…"

Had it all been a lie? Did Peter no more trust in him, than he seemed to trust in himself?

"You said you believed in me…"

His voice came out hoarse, broken, and he winced and turned his head sharply away. He didn't want to see the panic in those eyes again. He couldn't take it, not anymore.

They were both so close to breaking now…

"I do, Edmund! It's just…I…I don't want to hurt you…"

Peter was on the brink of tears now. Edmund could tell from his fluctuating voice. In his minds eye, he could see those china blue eyes filling with unshed moisture. He shuddered. Peter reached out a trembling hand to grasp his shoulder.

"I never wanted to hurt you…"

_I would kill myself, if I thought it would relieve you of your pain…_

"No more than I wish to hurt you!"

_**I would gladly die before I let any hurt befall you…**_

"I'm not some china doll, Ed! I won't shatter if you drop me!"

_But I would. I feel so fragile, like a limp candle flickering in a high wind…as though any moment I may break…I'm pathetic…_

"And I'm not the child you want me to be!"

_**I can do this…and yet I feel so helpless…no matter what I do, you always seem to suffer because of me…**_

"**Terrible **things are about to happen, Edmund! Were anything to happen to you, I…it's…all my fault…if only…"

_I could die with every passing moment. And who would care for Edmund, for the others, when I am gone? Daddy can't. Not anymore._

"Can't you see? All the fault…the guilt…is mine alone to bear. Why can't you accept that?"

_**If only, if only, if only…there is no use in looking to the past…I can only change the future…**_

"Edmund, how can you say that! You don't understand!"

_Why can't I ever understand?_

"Because I'm a _child_? Grow _up, _Peter!"

_**Help me grow up, Peter. I don't know what to do.**_

"I…don't…I never wanted…to hurt you…"

_I would **never, **if the world would live for countless, endless years, want to hurt you._

"Yeah? Well, here's a revelation!"

_**I don't want to say this. I don't mean this.**_

"You already _have._"

_**I've already destroyed us both. So completely and utterly, we cannot even begin to place the shattered shards within hope close around us.**_

"**I _HATE _YOU!"**

_**I love you so much it hurts. **_

And as two hearts broke in the dark chaos of the storm, the rain only fell harder, pounding upon the hard packed earth in seeming anguish.

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Edmund was running. So hard, so fast, he could feel cold fire fill his chest with agony as he struggled to breath. His stomach ached, his limbs stung with exhaustion, but still he ran.

But from what, he didn't know.

Sodden strands of limp, dark hair obscured his vision, and his feet were heavier than the largest weight. His lungs burnt with their desire for oxygen, but he ignored it, eyes welling up with furious tears.

He would be content to never draw another breath.

He sank down in the muddy slush at the crest of one of the hills, and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as he buried his face in his arms, blood roaring in his ears.

Black spots danced like mocking shadows before his eyes, and his head pounded so hard with adrenaline he felt it would explode. Still he refused to take a breath, his strength waning as he realized he hardly cared.

And then he took a choked, harsh, gasping breath.

As a blood curdling scream suddenly tore the chaos asunder, echoing about the valley from where Edmund had come with terrible finality.

And then, all was quiet.

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**Peter screamed, by the way.**

**A/N: Edmund is so utterly desperate, he lost control. As his thoughts dictated, he doesn't want to say these things to Peter. He just doesn't know how to say those three simple words.**

**You know the ones I mean! I would suggest re-reading the poem, or curse, which was placed on Peter before reading the next chapter.**

**And yes, the cliffhanger was evil. **

**No, I don't care.**

**Oh, I found this. Thought it might be interesting:**

_"The character of Peter probably grows and develops the most of all during the course of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. At the beginning of the story, Peter is at home with his mother when London is being bombed. He is then handed the responsibility for his brothers and sisters._

_'And he grows into that. He has to find his strength and his courage and ability to lead, and he has to watch over and protect the entire country of Narnia.'"_

_Walden Media Narnia site, Educator's Guide, Page 12_

**Cifel: (eager) Ooo, will there be fighting in the next one? And swords! And blood!**

**Uh…yes. But not for Cifel, unfortunately. His turn will come soon enough, however. Hmmm…interesting. With each chapter, there are approximately 100-200 hits. And usually, only about ten reviews.**

**Veeeeeeery interesting…well, don't feel obligated. Wait, do! No, seriously, I'm not being some stuffy whiner…I'm delighted with every reader, whether they like the story or not.**

**Cifel: Review, you people! She's losing confidence, here!**

**(smiles nervously) Yeah, I'm really nervous about the next chapter…some encouragement, or helpful advice, would be nice.**


	34. Chapter thirty four

**A/N: Wow, lots of encouragement! Thank you! (Bows) Like I said before, the next few chapters are extremely intense and difficult to write.**

**People professing they will hate me if I do things, please don't. It kinda puts me off…even though I know it's just in fun. I'm getting really uptight about these chapters, and almost started crying when I wrote one…**

**Cifel: (rolls eyes) Drama queen…**

**I hope I won't screw it up…POV hops about a lot in this chapter. Bear with it, please.**

_This is the witch speaking to Peter, and then Peter himself after a few scenes_

_**This is Edmund**_

Chapter thirty four

Cifel froze as he released a griffin from its temporary state, raising his head and gazing to the south. He had felt…something. Suddenly, inexplicably…he couldn't feel either of the Sons of Adam anymore.

What…did that mean?

He glanced around at the disorientated, swiftly growing mass of creatures. They looked at him in wariness, in reverence, and he felt slightly uncomfortable. He had not received such…respect…since the olden days.

Before _she _came.

Cifel shivered as the courtyard seemed to grow suddenly cold. He had to carry on…he had sworn to return as fast as possible, and this lack of emotion in the now extremely faint bonds was filling him with unease.

Something terrible…something which would shape the fate of all of them…was teetering on the brink of reality.

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Jadis' lips curled upwards into a sick, mocking smile as she gazed with disgust upon the now fallen Son of Adam. His sky blue eyes were filled with malice, a blazing fire tinged with despair staring up at her.

She didn't flinch when he screamed, as her blade sunk into his flesh with a succulent sound. Rather, she closed her eyes and revelled in the sound, drinking in his agony and drawing strength from her hold over him.

It was sweet, bitter. Intoxicating.

"Oh, my sweet little prince…"

She cocked her head to the side as the far off sounds of erratic, desperate footsteps reached her senses. The golden haired boy writhed in pain, struggling to scramble away, his face hidden by the shadows of the clouds above him.

As another flash of lightning, coupled with a clap of livid thunder, lit the valley, Jadis caught sight of a lone figure silhouetted atop the hill.

She had savoured the flavour for too long…lingering upon the tips of her fingers, begging to be unleashed. But she had waited, and orchestrated her own script of a tragic comedy of revenge.

This was only the beginning.

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Peter Pevensie clutched at his searing shoulder, the indent spouting sticky, hot blood over his clenched fingers. Trickles of rain ran down from his sodden hair in a sick mimic of tears, and he drew shallow, quick breaths.

He…couldn't move.

He tried desperately to bring his legs out from under him and stumble upright in some façade of defiance…but his limbs seemed to be made of solid, numb ice. His body was not listening to the desperate, erratic pleas of his mind.

A throttling, smothering cold was closing in, driving spears of pure ice into his body. He couldn't breath, he couldn't think.

He watched the world from behind a wall of frosted glass, as he seemed to draw back within himself, and a soft, harsh laughter echoed about his head. He slammed against the barrier, trying desperately to break through, but to no avail.

He was utterly helpless.

As he felt his spectral eyes sting with repressed agony, he could feel nothing. He vaguely heard a sharp, mocking tone mimicking his own mother's voice:

"Peter, darling; would you come to me?"

He saw his own hand raise steadily to take her blue hued talons, and rise to his feet, as his vision was clouded with a crimson haze.

And Peter Pevensie uttered a terrible, silent scream.

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Edmund's world span at a nauseating angle.

His feet pounded hard upon the ground, and he stumbled, losing his footing. He scrambled up, the hard fragments of forest debris embedded in his palms and knees.

"PETER!"

He felt like he was going to throw up, but there was no substance to do so. A burning, leaden weight had settled uncomfortably on his stomach, smothering his chest with numb panic.

"PETER? **WHERE ARE YOU!**"

His hoarse cry was drowned by another clap of thunder as he came to the crest of a hill, his desperate plea lost in the chaos of the storm. He panted and wheezed, scanning the darkness frantically.

And then he saw him.

Peter sat at the bottom of the hill, the lush grass about him splattered with crimson life fluid. He clutched his shoulder with white knuckled hand, and his head was bowed, his dripping hair obscuring his face.

And then he saw _her._

Jadis, acting overlord of Narnia, sneering down at his brother's agonising torment. How face was shadowed by the light cast by the shifting clouds above her, her eyes blank and so cruelly edged.

She raised a poisonously elegant hand to reach for Peter, and Edmund felt his heart leap with a powerful surge of fear.

He forced his aching body into movement, and began to stumble unevenly down the hill, eyes fixated on the bowed figure of his brother.

And then he froze, as he saw Peter reach out and take the witch's outstretched hand, his face becoming visible as a thunder clap allowed lightning to illuminate the valley.

Edmund drew in a harsh gasp.

Peter's face was deathly pale, his lips turning an icy hue of blue. His expression was blank, impassive, and his hair hung in lank strands before his eyes.

China blue had been polluted with stark, bloody crimson.

And then the second petrified, desperate scream resounded inside Edmund's head, and the land shuddered with repugnant repulsion at the torment of their High King.

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Jadis felt a surge of triumph as the thin tendrils of her power carefully orchestrated the boy to rise to his feet and take her hand. She watched his wide eyes grow blank, and turn a dark shade of red.

And now, she held all the cards.

She watched in mild interest as the sweaty, wild eyed younger Son of Adam skidded to a jerky halt a few feet before her. She raised a deceptively gentle hand to grasp the unresponsive golden boy's shoulder, and pulled him back to stand beside her. Blood poured from the cut in his shoulder, but she paid it no heed.

It mattered not now, anyhow.

Her lips curled upwards in rapture, as Edmund froze in his movement and stared with disbelief at his brother.

The final act had begun.

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Edmund shuddered as his gaze met the blank, swirling depths of his brother's crimson eyes. Peter watched him without emotion or movement, golden lashes robotically sweeping down to blink once gentle, sky blue eyes at Edmund.

The white witch began to laugh, a quiet, coarse chuckle, and reached up her other hand to wrap around Peter's chest. She pulled his unresponsive form to her body, mimicking a gentle embrace.

Edmund shivered, pure hatred rearing its smouldering head. His insides were on fire, his blood was pounding so hard in his ears he could hardly hear the storm above him.

"Let him go."

His voice shook with anger, his fists clenching with fury at his sides. The witch lowered her head sharply, to fix cool grey eyes upon him.

She smiled a sickening smile, and reached up a slender fingered hand to slowly fondle Peter's sodden but still golden hair, slowly caressing the limp locks away from his face to draw back the curtain which partially hid those eyes.

Edmund faced the torment with a hardened blow, as he saw those red eyes cloud over with salty tears.

She rested her chin atop Peter's head, still gently stoking Peter's hair as she had done to Edmund once upon a time. Her lower lip jutted out into a mocking pout.

"Awww…my poor little delusional child. You truly believe you can command me?"

Her fingers clenched into a fist in Peter's hair, and she yanked his head with a sharp movement. Peter did nothing, his head snapping backwards unnaturally, and his face still blank and growing paler.

"No."

Edmund took a fumbled step forwards, his hands beginning to tremble with utter hatred. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the crystalline rivulets of rain pouring over Peter's white face.

"Let him **_go!_** He has nothing to do with…you."

It was true. The witch and Peter had never even exchanged a word…the blame, the punishment, must fall to Edmund. It had to. It was his penance, his right, his _duty._

The witch cocked her head to the side, her smile growing to reveal pearly white teeth.

"Oh, little Eddy. But he does. _You _made it so."

There was a glint of metal, and Edmund saw one of the witch's twin blades hidden within the depths of her palm. It was perilously close to Peter's chest. Edmund took another weak step forwards, and she mirrored him, dragging his brother back.

"Take…me. Instead. Just…let him go…please…"

The witch's smile fell, and she let out a soft hiss as Edmund's hand strayed tentatively to rest upon the hilt of his sword.

"And why should I, when I can cause you such intense with him as my tool? Besides…"

Her hand drifted up over Peter's shoulder to rest against his neck, and Peter turned his head mechanically to look her in the eye.

"Peter. Do you want to go to your brother?"

_EDMUND! Don't-_

Edmund refrained from clutching his head as a sudden, disjointed voice abruptly sounded within the confines of his mind, then just as quickly was cut off. It crackled like a broken record, and he watched in detached disbelief as Peter shook his bloodless face slowly, his brother's voice still ringing in his ears.

What…was this? Those blue, chapped lips had never moved, and yet he heard Peter's broken voice in his mind…

"He betrayed you, little Peter. His own blood, sold you to certain death and tied you to a terrible fate. Can you forgive him?"

Edmund vaguely registered Peter's blank head shake once again, this time more vigorously, but he listened intently for the voice once more.

…_mund? Don't…her! She…cursed…_

**_Peter? Where are you! I can't understand you…_**

"Do you hate him?"

Edmund was wrenched back to reality as the witch spoke again, and he felt a stab of pain pierce his heart as Peter shook his head once more, a strange, bitter smile now twisting his once kindly, innocent features.

…_no…I…would never…control…_

And Edmund, suddenly, inexplicably, understood.

A chimaera, eyes a deep, bloody crimson. Sennjan, or Cifel, the once deadly red eyed boy whose eyes now shone a living, forest green.

"You…you're possessing, controlling him…! But…"

Edmund stared the crimson orbs in the face, forcing himself not to reel in repulsion, and could have sworn he saw a flicker of blue as the eyes rolled to look at him.

"Peter, I can still hear you! I know-"

"SILENCE, FILTH!"

The witch's lips now curled into a disgusted sneer, as her hand fell from Peter's hair to grasp his other shoulder in a painfully tight grip. Her eyes narrowed as Edmund felt a weak sense of triumph.

Then his heart leapt into his throat as she smiled once more.

"Very well. I see this is of no more use to me."

Edmund's eyes widened, and he followed the slow progress of her hand, as she took Peter's limp hand in hers, and placed the hilt of one of her swords within his palm. She pressed down, hard, and Peter's hand suddenly grasped it tightly.

She raised her head, a mocking, cruel leer covering her sharp features.

"Edmund, Son of Adam…draw your sword."

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Peter let out a harsh, desperate gasp as he realised what the witch was about to do. He slammed against the icy, frosted glass before him with all his strength, and released a hoarse sob as it refused to give.

He pounded a spectral fist against the surface, hearing it creak ominously, but it didn't break. He watched as though from a dream, as he saw his own hand grasp the witch's sword.

'_**EDMUND!'**_

His voice rose and broke, and he screamed with all his remaining strength, falling to his knees as he gasped for breath.

But his little brother could no longer hear him. Edmund watched with morbid horror as Peter saw himself raise his sword and advance on the younger Pevensie.

'Ed…mund…'

He choked, as his whisper echoed about his wintry prison, resounding around his head and in his aching heart.

He bowed his head as he saw his own arm raise the sword aloft, and felt his own face bear a malicious, avenging smile.

He cried out in desperate frustration and curled into a foetal, crumpled heap on the cold ground, his breathing shallow, his china blue eyes wide with fear and hopelessness.

A crimson haze had once more descended upon his vision.

He felt so _cold._

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Edmund only moved at the last second, shell shocked, as his own brother raised the witch's sword in a strong hand and brought it down in a powerful arc towards him.

He ducked to the side, staring up at Peter's face, which now bore a cruel, sadistic smile which made his once loving features, which Edmund knew so well, emanate evil.

Peter was trying to _kill _him.

No. Peter would never want to cause Edmund hurt…never. The _witch _was trying to kill him.

Kill them both.

Kill them all.

Edmund felt a surge of pure power and strength well from his heart and spill throughout his limbs, searing across his being. He would _not _give up.

Peter hadn't. Peter wouldn't. This was _not _Peter.

But if this…creature…which inhabited his brother, was harmed…Peter would suffer, feel the pain, bear the hurt, too.

He _couldn't._

Not _Peter._

"Are you frightened, Son of Adam? Do you cower at your own brother's feet?"

The sneering, mocking tone of the witch came from the sidelines, and Edmund felt a web of realisation weave itself in his mind.

It was dangerous.

…_let…can't…die…_

The soothing presence, even though it spoke of fear and loss of hope, strengthened Edmund's resolve. There was still hope. The light may yet shine on, the storm would eventually pass.

And as the rain began to falter in its flight, the clouds rising and revealing fragments of dark sky, Sir Edmund the Just of Heart drew his sword.

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The barrier was thinning. Peter weakly raised his head as he saw the wall begin to shimmer, and grow clearer. He scrambled up, his movements sluggish, and saw his brother's dark eyes illuminated before him in the darkness.

His body was the very essence of pain.

Icy shards were tearing him apart from the inside out. He no longer felt, he longer breathed. He couldn't think, he had no voice to speak with, no lips to formulate a cry for help.

And yet those dark eyes burned with the fire of defiance.

Edmund…hadn't given up.

He wouldn't fail him again…not Edmund. Not his little brother.

He saw Edmund roll to the side as his own arm attempted to inflict a deadly, killing blow to his neck. He felt, rather than saw, his brother reach for his sword.

_Edmund…please, let me die…I can't go on with you in peril…let me…die…_

But it seemed Edmund was not listening.

And as the battle begun, Peter realised with a searing, thrust of cold reality.

This duel, no matter what the outcome, would inevitably end in bloodshed. The witch would not go without at least one triumph to savour her victory.

He could do nothing about it.

But whose blood was spilt…that he could control.

He would…rule his own fate.

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The two blades met with a tyrannical clash, and Edmund gritted his teeth as his brother's superior strength forced him to stagger backwards. His brother's face grinned in malice, an eyebrow raised in sceptic scorn.

Edmund let out a growl of frustration as lunged wildly away. He could not attack…he just…couldn't. Peter was still alive, his heart still beating, somewhere inside that shell. He couldn't take the risk.

He had to force his opponent to face the witch. It would give Edmund a split second advantage, a single chance.

It wasn't enough.

Not nearly enough.

But he had to try.

"OI! YE GET AWAY FROM THEM YOUNGUNS, YE VARMITS!"

Edmund's head snapped about, to see the stout figure of the dwarf wrench back his stubby arm to hurl his axe at the witch with unexpected strength.

The witch cried out, stumbling, her concentration breaking as she leapt out of the way.

Edmund whirled back about, to find a pair of china blue, flickering orbs staring at him in weak confusion. He let a gasp of joy, moving to leap forwards.

But froze as a trembling hand raised the blade of the sword to block his path.

"No…Edmund…go…"

Crimson tendrils began to filter through sky blue orbs, turning them a bloodshot texture. Dark, blood filled droplets of tears welled in polluted, intoxicated eyes, and Peter sank to his knees as he whispered a final order.

"Go…now…end this…"

And Edmund, hesitating for only a blind moment, turned reluctantly on his heel to charge at the fallen figure of the Queen of Narnia.

The final act was drawing to a close.

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Peter fumbled for the hilt of the sword, his eyes falling from his brother's back. He had his own last, final task to accomplish.

Strange that even after all this suffering, this hardship…

They had returned to the beginning once more…

Ironic that the only path to salvation must be stained with the blood of the innocent, in order to be righteous.

He held the icy tendrils at bay with the final shattered, fragmented remnants of his strength, as he raised the blade of the witch's own weapon to rest upon his two outstretched, upturned palms.

He felt his limbs growing numb, as he carefully turned the blade about to face his own chest, his hands beginning to shake with the repressed icy power which engulfed him.

He clasped the hilt with a surprisingly steady hand, and he opened his eyes for one final moment of peace.

They met with a pair of wild, terrified dark eyes widening in shock.

His lips curled into a bitter smile, those two horrified orbs imprinted forever upon the shadows of his mind.

He no longer felt afraid.

He flinched as he heard the hoarse, agonised scream of his name as he drove the blade into his own chest with all his strength.

It…didn't really hurt.

He just felt…cold. Just a little.

The darkness began to close in as the icy tendrils withdrew as though severed by the very blade which had sunk into his body, and he sighed in relief as the pain faded.

His eyes fluttered slowly shut.

'_I'm…so…sorry, Edmund…it's the…only…way…'_

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**A/N: Well…that's that.**

**Please review, and bear with me. Trust me. I know what I'm doing.**


	35. Chapter thirty five

**A/N: HOLY MOLY there were a lot of reviews for the last chapter…yeah, so a lot of people are panicking (evil grin). Well, don't! Please hear me through to the end. I KNOW what I am doing.**

**Trust me.**

**Cifel: (reads sequel scripts) Yeah, why else would he be in the cast list for-(gets gagged) mffffffff!**

**I will state once again that this is neither slash nor incest, just very intimate brotherly love. I have nothing against either; I just don't think Mr Lewis would condone such use of the characters. **

**Besides, it just too cute.**

**Ahem…**

_This is Peter_

Chapter thirty five

Edmund felt his heart freeze in its beat, his blood stilling in his very veins.

He felt a jerky shiver run up and down the length of his spine, and he heard grunts and hisses behind him as the dwarf apparently regained his advantage. But he paid it no heed.

His eyes were fixated upon his brother.

Kind, gentle hearted Peter.

Lying in a growing pool of his own blood, sprawled in an unceremonious heap, impaled in the end of his own sword.

Peter. China eyed, innocent, loving Peter. His big brother, his best friend. Little Peter Pevensie just stabbed himself with his own toy.

Silly, silly little Peter.

Brave, foolish, righteous little Peter Pevensie.

Edmund didn't care if he was in mortal danger; didn't care that the dominant ruler of all evil was standing mere feet away. He felt his fingers go limp as his own sword fell to the ground with a heavy clang.

"Pe…ter…"

His eyes didn't even sting or well, but simply shed an endless stream of agony down his face. He was running, throwing himself down beside the broken figure, slipping in a trail of his brother's own life fluid.

A life which was slowly, but surely, slipping away.

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Jadis, Queen of all Narnia, stared in shock, dumbfounded.

She felt the puppet strings, her tendrils of power snap and withdraw into her fingertips as the Son of Adam fell, limp, to the floor.

The eldest Son of Adam had apparently found a loophole in her immaculate, infallible plan. Well…she couldn't say she had predicted _this._

A worthy, cunning foe indeed.

But no less doomed to die.

And now, with his little unexpected but nevertheless noteworthy distraction, she could complete her task in peace and return to her forces.

The battle should be beginning, even as she stood here.

She withdrew her sheathed sword, the twin of the one now embedded within the golden haired boy. She smirked as she advanced swiftly and silently towards the dark haired boy's exposed, vulnerable back.

How perfectly…ironic. Twin blades, each embedded in once of the loving siblings. Two perfectly synchronised deaths, befitting two fallen potential monarchs of a realm.

"GET BACK, YE **BEAST**!"

A perilously sharp axe was wielded with furious strength, and she stumbled back a few steps as the stout, ridiculous creature leapt to the two victim's defence. She eyed his weapon with a wary eye.

She had no time for this.

She had mere moments before the second course of events must be put in motion…she _had _to rid her path of the troublesome lion and his little sidekick before she could reap her full revenge.

She must wait, just a little longer.

She growled softly, and engulfed herself in the tendrils of icy dangerous which allowed her to sink into the earth, submerged in a shower of glassy shards. Within moments, the earth had knitted itself back to normality over her flight.

Three thrones filled in Cair Paravel…

Not perfect, but it would suffice. For now.

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It seemed the sky wept with wretched sorrow, as the first droplets of rain tumbled to the ground, landing upon Peter's brow; rolling downwards in a sick mimic of tears.

Peter's pale face flinched, and clear blue eyes blinked drowsily and fluttered open, before rising and meeting Edmund's own.

And Edmund began to sob, bitterly, as his eyes roved over the two deep indents in his brother's chest which still spilt his very life out over Edmund's hands.

"…don't you…fret, Ed…"

Peter reached up a trembling hand to brush a few wayward strands of hair behind his brother's ear, and Edmund reached up to grasp it close to his cheek. Salty tears and sweet droplets of rain trickled down their intertwined fingers.

"It…doesn't…hurt…"

Peter coughed weakly, small bubbles of blood rising out of his lungs and staining his pale lips a stark crimson. Edmund watched in despair as the rain washed it aside, running in rivulets down the side of his brother's face.

"…a little fall of rain…can hardly hurt me…now…"

Peter's lips twitched upwards in a fond smile, forcing a small scratchy chuckle. Edmund let out a harsh sob as he pressed his eyes tightly closed, tears of pain seeping in between his dark lashes.

Shaking fingers wiped them away, before going limp and falling down to rest in Edmund's lap.

"Nothing will hurt me…as long as…you're here…"

Edmund opened his eyes to see Peter smiling peacefully, sleepily, up at him, as though they were back home; Peter whispering soft stories in his ears of heroes, of dragons, and castles.

"Oh, little laddie…"

Rabadash kept a respectful distance, and bowed his head, before turning and retreating into the dark shadows of the trees. Edmund didn't look up, nor watch him go.

Peter smiled slightly at the dwarf's actions, a flush spreading across his cheeks at such respect.

"Oh, Ed…"

The smile wavered, and Peter choked, his breathing growing shallower; harsh. Edmund shivered, pulling the cloak from his own shoulder and tucking it gently about his brother. He froze as a hand halted his attempt to move his brother's blood stained shirt.

"No."

Peter shook his head, that slow, sleepy smile contorting his brother's face again. Golden eyelashes glittered with unshed moisture, framing china blue eyes filled with a calm sadness.

"There's…nothing to be done, little brother."

Edmund's chest collapsed inwards, and he let out a strangled scream as he fell down and clutched his brother's shoulders. His head lay over Peter's chest, sticky with blood.

He could hear the erratic, slowing beat of the heart which lay beneath his temple.

A hand caressed his hair, comforting, soothing, as Edmund's tears marred the blood with crystalline blue. He felt Peter's soft hair brush against his head as his brother leant against him.

The fresh smell of peppermint slowly conquered the copper tang of blood. The chest beneath him convulsed with tremors as Peter's lungs struggled to draw breath.

The world about them was silent. The rain splattered against the bowing grass which entombed them beneath the weeping sky. Edmund choked bitterly, slamming a fist into the slushy ground, tightening his hold about his brother's shoulder until his knuckles cracked with the strain.

"…hush…"

A gentle kiss was pressed to the dark hair, mingled with strands of sodden gold.

"M'not…afraid…Eddy…"

The weight about Edmund's heart doubled, constricting his very life flow. He cried quietly, his sobs slowing to frantic breathing as he shuddered.

"Promise me…you…"

Edmund raised his head, meeting Peter's sky blue, dulling gaze with eyes blurred by water. Peter was struggling to speak. Edmund pressed a shaking finger to Peter's lips, and nodded weakly. He understood.

'_You'll…be my strength…to go on…watch over the girls…'_

Peter smiled a gentle, relieved smile, and his eyes fluttered tiredly. He watched drowsily from china blue orbs as Edmund clutched him harder to him, and they lay sprawled together in the dying Spring rain.

"Promise me…promise me you won't die…please…"

Edmund managed to gasp out, his voice breaking. The hand on his hair stopped its caress, and Peter sighed deeply, holding back the choking which threatened to overwhelm him. .

"I…can't, Ed."

Edmund heart constricted, even as he felt Peter's slow.

"I…love you…Edmund…"

'…_and I'm not…afraid…anymore…'_

'…_it's so **cold…**'_

Peter Pevensie's eyes fluttered shut, the rain splattered again their still forms in anguish, and the land of Narnia bowed in reverence before its fallen King.

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Cifel released a strangled gasp, and his wings stiffened mid flight, leaving him to tumble in the air. A nearby griffin squawked, and ducked gracefully down to grasp his tunic in its talons.

Cifel breathed heavily as he muttered a thanks and regained his strength, surging upwards in the air once more.

It felt…like one of the flows to his consciousness had suddenly, and ruthlessly, been severed with a knife. He calmed himself, and tentatively reached across the tiny thread to feel the faintly beating pulse.

It was so very…frail.

As though it would snap at the lightest pressure, the simplest touch.

One of the Sons of Adam…was dying. Maybe was already wandering the realms of the dead, a single, thin flow all that was left to connect him to this material realm.

How could that be?

Surely, you could not be only _partly _dead…

Unless…

No…

Cifel's emerald eyes narrowed to slits, and he shouted an order to increase pace tenfold. The creatures upon the ground pounded obediently harder, the air filling with the whistling of the wind whipping past feathered beasts.

There may be a glimmer, a tiny flame, of salvation.

If the youngest Son of Adam did not yet give up hope. After all…as Aslan once said to him, upon a peaceful cliff beside the sea, an easterly breeze ruffling his curly, dark hair lovingly:

'_Hope, and love, my child, is the bond which binds us all to our fate. It was this which forged the very foundations of the deep magic, and, as such, the world. And it is the only force powerful enough in creation capable of defying the deep magic._

_Even to turn around death itself, if those who possess such qualities find a way to turn it to their will._

_Only then, dearest one, will you have seen the true face of God.'_

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The white witch, Jadis, queen of Narnia and empress of the lone islands. The ruler whose eyes speak of naught but cruelty, and whose form is robed in sorrow filled grief.

She stood upon her ornate, beast drawn chariot, clothed in mail frosted over with glassy ice. The deadliest beasts in all the realm stood about her, tense and readied for battle.

Her eyes roved lazily over the enemy ranks, her lips curling into a scornful sneer as she saw the lion perched atop an outcropping high above them, rather than leading the charge.

Gentle, afeared, magnificent ruler of the realms across the eastern sea.

There could be only one victor, only one finale to the last act. There would be no encore, no raucous, joyous applause for the brave souls which paid their penance in blood.

Only death, and an empty, cold throne upon the dais in the royal hall within the confines of Cair Paravel.

No matter what the outcome, ultimate victory was hers. How could a golden age begin, when there was no golden High King to rule over it?

There would be no salvation upon the field this day, for either righteous or damned.

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Susan's hands were steady as she readied her bow for combat, squinting as she tightened the string and fitted the first shafted arrow into the notch. She drew in a deep breath, and looked up to meet Lucy's sea green eyes.

She smiled shakily.

"You'll be…tending to the wounded, then?"

Lucy nodded silently, retrieving her vial from the crafted belt at her hip. She sighed as she shook it lightly, noting the small empty gap from the top.

"I'm…ready, I think. I'll have to choose who to help, and who to leave. I cannot tend to everyone at once."

Susan could see the prospect of such decisions distressed her younger sister. She placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, fervently wishing Peter was here. He and Lucy always seemed to understand each other.

Then again, Peter tended, somehow, to understand everyone.

Except Edmund, sometimes.

Whereas she simply tried. But sometimes, to try is simply not good enough. It was no use _trying _to save Edmund from the witch. There was no concept of failure. None of them had even thought it might be impossible.

Now, however…this was not like the tales you read in books, where some miraculous saving grace appeared in the hour of doom, just as the heroes and heroine's began to despair.

She watched as the ranks of the enemy flooded forward into the valley from the narrow pass. They were outnumbered, by about ten to one.

Her eyes skimmed over all the varying mythical creatures which formed the witch's army. Some she had seen in history books, mere shadows of ink upon a page. These, however, were very much alive.

Her fingers began to itch, and she clenched her fist about the handle of her bow.

She would need every ounce of her strength, every shard of courage she possessed.

The path ahead was clouded, indistinct. Who knew what the rising dawn upon the field would bring; a new day shining upon lush grass splattered with blood?

A victory, and a defeat.

Who would prevail…was left to the bindings of fate.

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**Well, Lewis did it for Aslan. Why can't I?**

**A/N: DON'T SPAZZ AT ME! THINK ABOUT THIS FOR A MOMENT:**

**Would I REALLY kill of Peter?**

**Cifel: (eyes wide) You…I…what…you didn't tell me you were going to do _that!_**

**Oh, yeah. I just discovered something which left me slightly stunned. I was reading an interview for all the actors of the children, and discovered the following:**

**Lucy's actress is ten, Edmund's fourteen, Susan's sixteen, and Peter's eighteen.**

**EIGHTEEN!**

**They seriously look young for their age…oh well. Never mind. The director better get his butt in gear before they all grow moustaches, though…well, the boys, anyway…**

**(Raises strawberry yogurt) Ladies and gentlemen, Peter Wolfsbane. Review, and their peril will end; how, we shall have to see.**


	36. Chapter thirty six

**A/N: Oh, yeah, some people are claiming my spelling is off…well, I would like to add a little reminder.**

**IMPORTANT: I'M BRITISH. I use British spelling. Where you use s's, I usually use c's. Apologies, but it's the setting on my computer, and to me, it is correct. **

**Oh yeah! Congratulations to the two reviewers who spotted the Les Miserables quote! I was listening to the song 'A little fall of rain' while writing that scene, and it just sorta fell in…**

**I'd be interested to know if anyone else British is reading this…just wondered. **

_This is Peter_

Chapter thirty six

It was…warm.

So very warm. He could smell soft earth, and fresh, green grass. A cool, refreshing breeze ruffled his hair lightly, wafting the sweet scent of wild flowers about him.

His body ached, but he didn't feel any…pain. Only numb. But he wasn't cold…just a little dizzy. The world seemed to tilt beneath him, and he groaned slightly as he moved his hand up to rub at his face.

Then his china blue eyes snapped open.

He squinted as the bright light of sun seeped into orbs used to dreary darkness, and winced, throwing a hand over his face languidly. His vision was cloudy and blurred, and his movements seemed sluggish, as if he were trapped in a dream.

He blinked, and sat up, staring around.

He was in a grassy meadow. The plants about were tall and unkempt, but somehow appeared rebelliously beautiful. The flowers about him were all of one kind, and his mouth fell open as he gazed at the seething, softly swaying mass of sky blue about him.

He was half submerged in a huge collection of baby blue flowers, and he bent his head to peer at them closer. They had tiny splotches of golden yellow within the centre, and nodded their curled buds in the warm, summer breeze.

He frowned.

His mind was…blurred. He…couldn't remember how he had come to be here. There had been pain, a blinding light…but other than that, nothing.

He scrambled to his feet, a small, gentle smile growing on his lips as his hands brushed against the soft texture of many petals against his fingers. He seemed detached; he moved before his mind seemed to register he had done so, and so everything was slightly hazy.

But, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to pay it any heed, nor thought.

It was so peaceful here; quite unlike where he had come from, wherever that was. He resolved not to ponder upon it…after all, it was quiet here. And he felt…at peace. Carefree.

On a simple whim, he let out a small laugh and hurried through the sea of flowers, wondering what they were called. They were the colour of the sky, thehue of blue Victorian china.

He carefully plucked one from its stem, and placed it snugly in his chest pocket. He glanced about eagerly, drinking in the sights and smells around him with wide eyes.

He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered in delight, as another cool draft of warm air caused goose bumps to rise up his bare arms and legs. He smiled, and sank to his knees, throwing himself onto his back with a soft peal of laughter.

It was safe, and warm, here. Yes, he liked it. He didn't think he ever wanted to leave. Whatever it was he had left behind…it had been hurting him. And why on earth would he want to go back to that…

When he was so happy here?

But…

Surely, he was forgetting something…

He shrugged lightly and smiled slightly uneasily. Well, no matter. He was safe here. Nothing would hurt him.

Automatically, he rubbed at his chest, and swallowed. A dull ache had begun to grow there, and he winced. He didn't like it. It wasn't a pleasant ache, like the one in his warm limbs.

It hurt.

He jumped and let out a yelp of surprise as a dark head, upside down, appeared above him, blocking out the sky. Its features and face were in shadow, so he could only see an outline, silhouetted against the clear sky.

He smiled drowsily and blinked up at the figure.

A cloud which had been shadowing the sun hastily scurried out of the way, and Peter gasped as his gaze met china blue eyes which matched the sky above it, and a very familiar face.

He blinked.

Then laughed softly, reaching up a hand to bat at his father's cheeks, just as he used to do when he was a little boy.

"Daddy?"

His smile widened disbelievingly, and his hand dropped to fall upon the crumpled flowers around him.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

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Cold, clinging rain poured down upon him, slapping against his pale cheeks and cascading from the curling ends of his dark hair. He watched them tremble, then fall, tumbling down.

He then snapped his gaze up, refusing to watch their process down his brother's body.

He daren't check for a pulse.

He already knew where Peter was…he could _feel _him. It was faint, it was barely a glimmer…but it was there. The object, vessel beside him was merely a shell, a reflection of Peter formed into living flesh.

Peter himself was far away from here.

Edmund had cried bitterly, till he had no strength, no tears left to shed. He felt…nothing. Not even a numb ache. He was empty. Empty as the broken shell of his brother was beside him.

His face remained unchanging as he brushed the limp, damp strands of golden hair away from his brother's face. He wiped the trail of blood carefully from his brother's lips, and wiped it on his own sleeve.

The land around him was screaming silently, wailing in desperate grief. He shuddered as he felt their cries intensify around him, as the rain began to ease.

It seemed the heavens, like Edmund, had no more grief to give.

There was something…which lingered, within his heart, the very core of his soul. Something etched into his being, a thread of light so thin he felt were he to move, it would break and fall.

He had more strength to gather, no more emotion to bear. His limbs moved slowly, as he placed a gentle hand beneath his brother's neck, stooping low to crouch and tense his muscles.

He closed his eyes briefly, and toppled awkwardly forwards to lay his forehead against Peter's, feeling a stab of agony as he felt how _cold _it was. Soft, golden strands of hair tickled his brow, and the lingering smell of peppermint still invaded his senses.

He listened, bearing his very soul, letting all barriers within his defences shatter and reaching outwards with all the meagre strength he possessed.

_Wild flowers, blue skies, the swaying lull of a summer breeze._

_Laughter._

He drew a deep breath and drew back, a fire beginning to kindle within his chest. He weakly smiled, and let out a choking laugh, brushing the hair back from Peter's forehead fondly, his laughter fading.

He pressed a searing, gentle kiss to Peter's temple, and buried his face in the golden hair. He closed his eyes tightly as a pulsating fire spread throughout his body, filling the despairing void with a blinding light.

With a cry of defiance, he shifted one arm below his brother's knees and the other under his back, and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

'_Don't be silly. I'm stronger now, remember? Besides, you're not that heavy.'_

'_And even if you were, I'd carry you to the ends of the Earth if I had to.'_

A slow, drowsy smile split Edmund's mask, and he turned his head to smile down at the messy head of golden hair which now rested comfortably against his shoulder.

"Funny, Pip…I didn't think I'd ever actually have to…"

He murmured, as a cool breeze rose and tossed his dark hair about his head. The sky was clearing, the last trickles of rain forming into puddles and seeping into the sodden earth.

Peter's face was hidden in Edmund's own neck, but he could feel the tickle of eyelashes and strands of hair against his bare skin. Some semblance of warmth had begun to seep from Edmund to the cold shell he now cradled protectively in his arms.

Edmund's smile widened, and he lightly rested his cheek against Peter's head as he shifted his arms, moving his brother to rest more comfortably against him. It was awkward, and had he been but a mite shorter, it would have been almost impossible.

He made a small note to resurrect Cifel after he had killed him…twice.

He drew himself up straighter, fixing his eyes upon the horizon, and the lightening sky above the crest of the hill. As long as he lived, and breathed, and still possessed the strength to stumble on…

He would never stop fighting, till the bitter end.

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Cifel shuddered and suppressed the urge to retch, as he stood beside a now crusted patch of dark blood, starkly pooled upon the dark earth and flattened grass.

The swaying leaves about him were frosted with a powdery sheen of cold ice, and the clearing seemed altogether unbearably quiet.

Something _terrible _had happened here.

He could still almost hear screams, echoing, resounding within the marrow of the land itself. He knelt carefully down, and touched a hand into the tar-like crimson pool.

He gasped as a terrible, agonised scream sounded in his mind, and scrambled backwards.

The wind picked up, and grew in intensity, and Cifel stared with wide eyes as the trees around the clearing seemed to draw back their branches to form an indistinct, crudepath.

'_Your Lordship. This way.'_

He followed its course, and caught sight of the occasional rivulets of blood which marked the way. He still could feel nothing from the broken bonds with the two Sons of Adam.

He turned swiftly about to address the solemn griffin at his side, whose feathers were stood tensely on end.

"Go back to the party, and relay orders to prepare for combat. I shall rejoin you in a moment…but there is something I must do, first."

The griffin nodded its crested head, and flexed its powerful wings as it took flight, soaring over the hilltop to join its fellows. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and tentatively reached along the trail of sorrow towards the valley where Aslan's camp once stood.

There was a single presence; pulsating steadily, strong, and seemingly calm, if a little turbulent.

And another…so weak, if he had been any other, or if the wind had picked up at that moment, it would have been lost to him. He frowned, as he spread his own limbs, and watched the land turn to a blur beneath him.

The trail was fading, the bloody arrows along the path growing cold.

He may already be too late.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edmund did not move to look up as he felt, rather than saw, the foreign presence enter the small enclosed hollow within the hillside. He smiled bitterly, and closed his eyes as he heard Cifel moving softly closer.

"Oh…dear Lord above, _no…_"

Edmund let loose a manic, somewhat strangled chuckle.

"You're a little late, guardian."

He kept his gaze upon Peter's unmoving, strangely peaceful face. He could have been sleeping, lost within the throes of a joyful fantasy all to himself.

Perhaps he was.

But Edmund wished, so terribly, selfish as he was, that he could wake him from it.

Cifel dropped to his knees, and hastily moved to wrench the cloak which Edmund had carefully tucked around Peter away. Edmund's hand shot out, and grasped Cifel's trembling hand with a harsh grip.

"Don't you _dare."_

He yanked the other's arm away, turning to glare with cold fury into the other's emerald, strangely glassy eyes.

"Don't you _dare _touch him."

Emerald eyes narrowed in desperate anger, and Edmund was dully startled to feel the forearm clasped within his own shake even harder with suppressed emotion.

"Son of Adam, there is still time! We can still-"

"I **_know _**that."

Edmund let Cifel go with a lurch, and allowed his own hand to fall to Peter's hair, smoothing it back away from his face as he had done so for many hours now. He smiled weakly at his brother's pale, but peace filled face, free of worry or from grief.

"I…know. Just…let him have a little longer. Just a few more moments, of peace."

Cifel blinked at him in surprise, and they sat silently for a few minutes, Edmund's head bowed. Cifel felt a quiet strength emanate from the boy, and vaguely admired his courage.

"And now."

Edmund turned to fix serious, solemn dark eyes upon Cifel, and his hand moved to rest protectively upon Peter's shoulder.

"Tell me what I have to do."

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It wasn't at all as Lucy had imagined it.

There was no heroic, romantic splendour, no swords shining in the midday sun. There was nothing but bleak cries and screams, and the endless flow of blood which stained her hands and clothing a deep crimson.

She hurried among the injured in the rear ranks, desperately tilting her vial with fervent care. Sometimes, she would be too late, and hastily continued on.

She felt so…helpless.

She would have loved to stay by the side of each creature as their soul was quietly whisked away, and perhaps mutter a prayer of hope to send them on their way. But she could not.

She had to keep going, keep healing, keep stumbling on.

For the first time in her short years, she was truly needed. She could help, she could make a difference, she had the power over life, or over death.

It was frightening.

But she could bear the pain…even if it was with a heavy heart brimming with despairing sorrow.

She hurried over to an injured faun, curly brown hair sticky with blood and kindly face scrunched up in agony like a newborn child.

It would be a long day.

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**A/N: First scene was Peter in purgatory, by the way. Henry Pevensie is there because he still has one more task to complete (bet you can work out what that is) and the flowers are forget me not's.**

**Ironically.**

**Edmund can feel Peter through the last remaining threads of the bond. He believed Peter hadn't completely gone, and reached out to him with all his heart. He got a flash of Peter's consciousness, which was the italic section in the second scene.**

**Just thought I'd kill clear that up…**

**Ah yes, I need advice for the sequel. I have two possible plotlines in the works, but I need your opinion; I could either write:**

**A sequel which is partly centred in the real world, especially school life for Peter and Edmund, and partly in Narnia.**

**Or…**

**A sequel mostly centred in Narnia.**

**I personally would prefer to do one focused on the real world, as it provides a refreshing change for me as an author, as well as a new challenge and endless concepts to work with. But I would like to know your opinion, all the same.**

**Anyway…**

**Next chapter: Peter and Daddy have a heart to heart, Edmund shows Cifel the true power of love, and Susan and Lucy face trials and peril in the battle for Narnia.**


	37. Chapter thirty seven

**A/N: Thank you all for your opinions on the sequel! It may take some time for me to get it all drafted and the concepts developed, so it'll be a few weeks between this one and the next. The result of the gathered opinions was a majority vote for both Narnia and the real world, and I am very glad most of you think it would be interesting to see both sides. For those who would have preferred Narnia only…there'll be a lot of that, too, so don't despair!**

**Want a hint?**

**Well, I always enjoy reading your predictions, so…oh yes, somebody asked me if this would be following canon format. It is written as an AU, and the time differences and characters may vary, but I will endeavour to try to vaguely stick to Lewis' view.**

**Q: If you do a third sequel, will you make it so Susan and Peter will not be in it?**

**A: Well, I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with Lewis on this. 'Dawn Treader' was a wonderful book, but it had one flaw: no Peter. Yes, I'm biased. Eustace, Caspian and all the others will be in it too, though.**

**This chapter contains Henry Pevensie POV, to avoid confusion.**

_This is Peter_

**This is Edmund**

Chapter thirty seven

"Many ages ago, when the Lion first forged the land…he put in place a deep magic by which to rule it. It balances right against wrong, good against evil. It is a code of conduct by which all nature is ruled."

Edmund listened carefully, as Cifel gazed out at the now clear blue skies above them. He seemed so very…frail, to Edmund. Not at all like the sarcastic, vibrant young man Edmund had first met.

War changes us all, he mused.

"He spoke to me at length of it; explained its workings, its rules. But he never explained what it really was."

A light breeze rose, sending the trees upon the hill rustling uneasily. It seemed they, too, sensed the terrible quiet of the world; foretelling what was to come. The wholerealm was on edge, teetering, poised on the edge of a knife.

"Understand, Son of Adam. There are many lands within our world. This is but one, and yours is yet another. Once, you would hear tell of a crossing place, a wood, of sorts, which contained many pools."

Edmund listened attentively, his back straight, brow furrowed as he acknowledged each and every word. He felt strangely…calculated. Calm, and yet alert.

"Lost souls, souls which still cling vainly to their own world, and the things they hold dear…were said to often end up wandering those woods, faced by their deepest fears, and desires, before they could go on."

Edmund saw in his minds eye a dark, shadowed wood, and Peter, that bewildered, innocent, naïve despair shining in his sky blue eyes. He shivered despite the warm summer breeze, and lowered his gaze to rest on his brother as Cifel continued in a soft, almost reverent voice.

"It was a trial, of sorts…designed to test the courage, and the will, of every soul which entered there. Those who had the strength to go on, to follow the path of the light, would know to follow their hearts and live in never-ending glory."

Edmund thought of the teachings he had learnt in Sunday school; of heaven, and of hell, and a plane of the in-between…purgatory, their teacher had called it.

"Those who despaired and fell into darkness would eventually fade away, their voices carried only by the currents of the wind. Eventually they were reborn as the life which populated the forests; the tree spirits. These were doomed to remain in that land forever, undecided, unchanging, lost forever."

Edmund reached down, and grasped Peter's limp, cold hand in his own, interlocking their fingers tightly. Subconsciously, he supposed he wanted to give his brother strength. In truth, he knew he also wanted to draw strength from Peter.

He was _so _selfish.

"It has been known…for some to find their winding way back to their own land. However…they are unable to return to their physical forms, and wander their land as mere shadows of their former selves."

Ghosts, Edmund thought with a small shudder. He had always believed in them, despite what the older children said at school. There had been whispers of a shadowy presence in the east wing of the school, scorned by the older years, feared by the younger.

Peter…a ghost?

He closed his eyes, and brought the reassuringly solid hand clasped in his own to rest against his cheek. He drew a deep breath.

"I…couldn't do that. Not to him…it's just…too cruel."

'**And…I'd never be able to touch him, ever. He'd just be there, untouchable, forbidden, coldly unreal…'**

"You are right, of course. We cannot simply draw a mere shadow back from the void…but…I…"

Edmund glanced up as Cifel seemed to hesitate, biting his bottom lip so hard it had begun to turn white. He shivered as a well of blood rose about the pressure, and gave the guardian's arm a firm shove.

"Tell me."

Cifel ran a hand through his dark, damp hair distractedly, his eyes flitting from the sky, to Edmund, to Peter. After a moment, he spoke again.

"He is still connected to this material realm-but only a single thread. His…love for you ties him to you, binds his fate to yours. And your own love for him allows it to cross across the barrier between the worlds."

Edmund swallowed dryly, searching within his heart for that familiar tugging which he had suspected may have had something to do with all this. It was so…warm. Calm. Strong. The very essence of Peter, living on within himself.

"Actually bringing him back…is simple. However…it is not as easy to revive him in his physical form."

Edmund's hand tightened convulsively around Peter's, his own hand throbbing with a frenzied pulse which contrasted horribly with the deadly still of his brother's.

"There is a way…but we would need a considerable disturbance within the deep magic in order to gather enough energy to do it. Short circuit it, so to speak."

Edmund moved his thumb carefully over Peter's coarse, but clammy skin, wiping away the small splatters of crimson which had marred its surface. He wondered if he should feel apprehensive…but he knew…

He would do whatever was asked of him.

If he could only have Peter…living, breathing, and smiling…by his side againeven if only for a moment...

"In order to re-awaken his body and root his soul within it…we'll need…a willing sacrifice."

Edmund closed his eyes tightly and brought their clasped hands to his lips, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. So, this was how it was to end. Peter gave his life for him…and he was once again indebted to return in kind.

How cruelly…ironic.

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"What am **I **doing here**…**?"

Peter frowned, as his father's face contorted into a picture of distressed anguish. He drew away slightly as Henry Pevensie grasped his son's shoulder and pulled him upright, staring with disbelief into eyes which mirrored his own.

"Peter…? It is you?"

Peter studied his father's face, and his own lips rose in a tentative grin. He laughed softly, scrambling to his feet and flinging his arms around his father's waist, burying his head in his shoulder.

"Don't be silly, Daddy. Of course it's me."

Yes, Henry thought, as he enfolded his eldest child in a tight embrace. This was Peter, but…not the Peter he had left rigidly refusing to cry at a cold train station. Or the one which had stood over him as he…died.

He seemed so…childish.

Though not in a juvenile, petulant way. More…carefree. Innocent. Henry reached up a hand to touch his son's hair, not quite believing he was really here.

But…why was he here?

Was Peter…dead too? The lion had said only the dead came here. Was his son…dead? Lying cold and alone in some ditch somewhere in the wild countryside?

He shuddered, and drew back, holding Peter at arms length. His son gazed up at him with eyes filled with affection, not a trace of the sorrow which had previously filled them remaining.

"Peter…what are you…doing here?"

Peter's smile faltered, and he frowned, as though struggling to remember something. Quite suddenly, his eyes widened, and he wrenched away from his father, shaking his head violently as though to dispel some barrier.

"No…"

His son began to shake, wrapping his arms around himself, folding over, eyes closing. Henry moved forward, concerned, but Peter turned away.

"You…dead…why…I'm…"

Henry grabbed his son's arms, watching Peter's slender form shake, his breathing shallow and erratic. It was impossible…you couldn't have a fit if you didn't even have a body…

"Ed…mund…"

The landscape around them seemed to darken, the wind picking up and growing colder. A cloud scurried across the sun, and the flowers about them seemed to wilt. Henry drew Peter close to him, rubbing hasty circles in his son's back. Peter, however, only shook harder.

"It…hurts. I don't want to go back…it's dark and cold there. It hurts…I want…I…"

Peter clenched his fist in his father's shirt, and let out a strangled sound which seemed like a cross between a cry, a sob and a scream. He began to struggle in Henry's hold, and the elder Pevensie grunted as one of his son's fists collided with his chest.

"Peter, calm down! Where did you come from? Where are the others? Are they safe?"

Peter went utterly rigid, his body completely still, then light tremors began to weakly wrack his hunched shoulders. Henry was dismayed to feel the collar of his shirt, where Peter's face was now buried, grow damp.

"I…don't…know…"

Peter raised his tear stained face to stare, wide eyed, at his father, as though seeing him for the first time. Henry rubbed his son's shoulders soothingly, trying to read the flickering emotions in Peter's eyes.

"Peter, tell me. What happened?"

But Peter didn't answer. His head suddenly snapped up, and he turned his head to the side, staring out at the woods beyond the field, from which Henry had first seen his son in the long grass.

And Henry froze, as he heard an echoing voice whisper upon the wind's breath:

**Peter…you can't die. You can't leave me.**

And Peter had gone, tore himself away from his father, tearing across the field towards the woods where the voice had come from, the flower about him parting, forming a path to guide the way.

Henry called out after him, and followed, all the while the whispering voice echoing about the recesses of his memory.

He knew that voice. Knew it well.

Edmund.

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Cifel watched in confusion, as Edmund gently replaced his brother's hand upon his still chest. He bowed his head for a moment, drawing a deep, but steady breath. The guardian frowned as the Son of Adam reached down to the ground, retrieving something.

He caught sight of the glint of metal, and lunged forward as Edmund directed the shard of the blade towards his heart.

"No!"

Edmund jumped, as Cifel snatched the perilously sharp blade from his hand abruptly, the edge cutting into the guardian's hand. Dark eyes filled with despair as he reached for it again, desperately.

"But I have to! Peter-"

"Will **not **thank you for taking your own life to save his! He gave himself for **you**, Edmund! Do not spit upon his sacrifice by making it all for nothing!"

Edmund had begun to shake, his hands clenching at his sides as his eyes became over bright, welling with tears he had suppressed for so long. He looked so like a child, then, that Cifel felt a stab of pity for him.

Cifel cursed as he crushed the shard in his bare palm, the fragments digging into his flesh before melting away with a soft hiss. He maintained an unbroken gaze with the boy beside him, a thousand thoughts racing across his mind.

"What is the point in defeating the witch, only to have an empty throne upon the dais in Cair Paravel? **_Everything _**will have been for **_nothing._**"

He felt every ounce of the pain, the hurt, the suffering since Aslan had first abandoned him. He had been only a child himself, gifted with the weight of an entire realm upon his shoulders. He had grown because he had to, suffered because it was his duty, his right.

But he wouldn't have traded it…he would have suffered for eternity, if he only had known for sure his charge, his land, would be safe.

But he hadn't.

He had to wait, waiting for age upon age as he watched that which was most dear to his heart wither and die under the tyranny of a foreign evil, yet still he waited, on, and on.

It had destroyed him.

He would not let such things destroy another.

"I know full well you would die for your brother…but tell me, Edmund…"

He had to know. Were he to give everything for this one hope, this one chance…he had to know.

"Would you die for this land?"

Edmund gazed at him in confusion, emotions flitting across his face like a dozen slides on a screen. Cifel reached out and clutched the boy's shoulder's, desperate to convey his will to him.

"Think of every creature; every blade of grass, every pebble on the shore, every living, breathing, fraction. How much does it mean to you?"

Edmund blinked, his brow furrowing, but his eyes flitted from Cifel to Peter, still. Looking only to his brother, only to Peter, always to Peter. Did he have any room left in his heart to love another?

"A King of Narnia must love his country, his realm, and his people, with such devotion as to be bonded with it completely."

Dark mahogany clashed with glimmering emerald, and it seemed as thought the world froze at that moment, holding its breath within a weary chest.

"So tell me, Son of Adam; can you learn to love my land, my kingdom…as you love your brother?"

Edmund's eyes grew darker, and he looked out of the hollow to the swirling sky above, the rustling trees, the fresh, green grass. It was beautiful, it was…so terribly sad. Cifel saw the Son of Adam's eyes glimmer with a strange emotion, and spoke again with a hushed, soft tone.

"For if you can…this land will need no guardian any more. And I am old, and cold, dead to the very core. The last fragments of my being, if destroyed, should be enough to cause an imbalance in the barrier between the worlds."

He drew back from Edmund, and reached down to Peter, drawing the sword still marred by the stains of his blood from beside the Son of Adam's body. He balanced it carefully across his palm, and held it out to Edmund with a steady hand.

"But I only condone my death…if you swear to love Narnia as you love him. With all your heart."

A gentle, longing smile spread across his face, and his emerald eyes spoke of a joy which had not been present for many an age. He stared levelly, yet imploringly at Edmund, and his smile faltered.

"If that were to be…I would gladly die, for the charge which I once held dearest to me over all."

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**To put it plainly; Cifel is offering himself to save Peter, Edmund, and his land. He's truly become a hero, hasn't he?**

**A/N: Well, well, well. I bet nobody saw that coming. I had this concept in mind for a long time…the idea that people will do anything, _anything, _for the thing they love the most.**

**I think this story may go on longer than I thought, so I'll make no promises for a definite last chapter. We have approximately four more and an epilogue, then special features. I'm not completely sure, but it's a general outline…**

**Next chapter: Edmund grows into his own, truly becoming Sir Edmund the Just, Susan and Lucy will actually get some action, and a dark shadow falls over the land of Narnia as the climax of fate draws near.**

**Oh yeah, those who have read 'The magician's nephew' will recognise that 'purgatory' is the woods between the worlds. I do love putting little references in here and there!**

**Reviews are very much appreciated, along with any possible predictions you may all have! I love hearing what you all think will happen, but I think I outsmarted you on this particular one…we'll have to see!**


	38. Chapter thirty eight

**A/N: Ok guys…the promised hint for the sequel is here:**

"**Come near my brother again, and the next day which dawns upon you, you will be so engulfed with pain you will neither remember nor care who you are."**

**I'm not telling you who says it! Safe to say somebody has gotten very protective…and somebody else is in for far more than they bargained for.**

**IMPORTANT: memorise these before you read. It will avoid extreme confusion later on.**

_This is Peter_

**This is Edmund**

_**This is the witch**_

Chapter thirty eight

Edmund gazed at Cifel in disbelief, then down to the shining, blood stained blade held out to him.

Cifel wanted Edmund…to kill him?

He...couldn't.

It would save Peter, but…to kill another in his place? Peter could never bear the guilt. And neither could Edmund. There had to be another way…surely there was…the deep magic could not be so cruel.

Cifel had misunderstood. Edmund had saved Peter before using only the power within him, his faith, and his belief in his brother. It had been enough, and he would do it again, a million times, if he had to.

He couldn't do what Cifel asked of him. He could never love anything more than his family, his brother…not if he lived until the end of time.

Yes, he was selfish.

Yes, he was a coward.

But he would rather have Peter…than all the worlds, and everything in them. Even if it meant condemning countless creatures to death, dooming an entire country to slavery…he would still risk all of it for one momentary glimpse of those china blue eyes.

He couldn't help his _love._

Love was not something so carelessly tossed aside. It was indefinable, so cruelly beautiful, and so bitterly sweet. There was no form of wording which could describe it, no feeling which could compare.

And Edmund loved Peter with all his heart.

"I…can't let him go. I'm…sorry. I'm just not strong enough. But…I can't…kill you…"

Edmund stared into wide, frightened emerald orbs, and saw something he had never seen before in Cifel's gaze. The guardian was exhausted, worn away by the trials of his time. He had seen so much sorrow, felt so much hurt…he just wanted it all to end.

He had lost the hope which Edmund so desperately clung to.

And Edmund understood. Cifel was helpless. Reckless. Like Edmund, he would have given his life, given everything, just to ensure that which he loved lived on in safety.

"I'm sorry…but…I think I…understand…"

But Cifel had never had an older brother to turn to, no loving embrace of a father to frighten away the childhood ghosts. He had been alone, since…probably since Aslan had left the land to its own devices.

"I'm so sorry…"

Edmund edged closer, and reached out to take the blade, holding it aloft for one tremulous moment, as his hand shook violently. Cifel bowed his head, and neatly folded his hands in his lap, his eyes slipping shut.

Then he tipped his hand, and it fell to the floor with a resounding clatter.

"You've had to go through all this, just waiting for us, only to find we're nothing but weak, helpless children."

Edmund felt a rush of pity as Cifel looked up at him with wild eyes now shining with moisture. Even grown men cry, when they have lost all hope.

In Edmund's own world, they would be scorned for such weakness.

But here, in the golden land of Narnia…to be able to cry was to show you have the strength to admit, and ultimately overcome, your weakness.

Edmund reached out a shaking hand to rest on the guardian's shoulder, looking him steadily in the eye.

"Listen…I can't promise to love this land more, or even half as much, as I love my family. But…"

His hand tightened, and he looked down to Peter's peaceful face, resting from the storm and sheltered by the love of another.

To love another person, was to never be alone.

"But I swear to you; if I make it out of this alive, I will learn to protect it as you have for so many years. Love is not something which can simply be felt on a whim."

Edmund paused for a moment, watching the course of a single frosted tear down a pale cheek with desolate fascination.

"Will you trust me? I can show you how to…how to love again, love your land. You've forgotten, what it feels like, haven't you?"

Edmund allowed his hand to drop away, and he took hold of Cifel's wrist, drawing him over to kneel beside Peter's still form. He smiled slightly at his brother's face, brushing a stray strand of golden hair from his brow.

"Something created for good could not possibly wish to condemn simply for loving. No force of such power could. The deep magic was forged from love, wasn't it? Aslan's love, and hope, for his children."

Edmund placed a hand against Peter's cold forehead, and felt his own hand grow colder while Peter's temple grew warmer.

He smiled.

"Then surely…love, of any form…if strong enough…should be capable ofoverrulingit?"

He tore his gaze away from Peter and turned back to Cifel, looking him in the eye. Cifel's dark hair obscured most of his face, but Edmund could see those two emerald eyes staring through the curtain.

The guardian seemed almost afraid…to believe.

"I see you are a good, kind soul…I can feel the pain in your heart. Yes, your heart yet beats, Cifel."

Edmund placed his free hand over Cifel's chest, and the guardian glanced down at it, eyes kindling with some semblance of light. Edmund smiled weakly at him.

"So long as you believe, it will always be there. Love needs no vessel to contain it. It is dangerous, and powerful."

He drew back, and turned away, focusing once more on his brother. He lowered his head, speaking softly.

"Unleash it, and you can yet save your realm. You are strong enough. And I am strong enough…"

There was a swirling, chaotic fire kindling within him. It grew, pulsating smooth beats of energy throughout his body. His chest was almost unbearably warm, and strength licked like flames across his limbs.

"And…and Peter's strong enough, too."

**He would never give up…and neither will I.**

"Peter would never leave me, not alone, not here. Not in the face of any power on heaven, or on earth."

**There is no force which could keep me from you. Not even death itself.**

"Peter?"

**There is no power stronger than the bond that we share.**

"Peter…you can't die. You can't leave me."

'_**You know Aslan; you're giving me your life and saving no-one.'**_

"You know why?"

'_**So much for love.''**_

"Because I _love _you."

_And I…love you._

And deep within the bowels of the land, something stirred, and a great shudder shook the very bones of the land with immense force.

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There was an uproar, and the sound of creaking timber and splicing blades. Lucy whirled about, and saw a huge disturbance in the centre of the ranks, and the griffins above let loose cries of fury.

She looked up to where Susan stood, atop the lip of the valley, beside Aslan.

The great lion was crouched low, his forelegs folded as though ready to pounce. Susan was staring out across the plain to the disturbance, and Lucy followed her gaze.

A glint of blue and white, cold as ice.

The witch.

She who had taken her brothers from her, torn her family, her very world, apart.

Lucy felt swirling, sickening rage fill the pit of her stomach, and she half rose to her feet, her hand going to the sheathed dagger in her belt.

"Nay, little missy."

She jumped, and looked down in surprise, to see quite the strangest dwarf she had ever seen. His face, though quite comical in appearance, held a solemn expression which prevented her from laughing.

"And why not, little man?"

He moved to stand beside her, his hand on the hilt of his axe, eyes narrowed as he scowled at the witch as she hewed her way through the ranks.

"Tis' not your burden to bear, miss."

Lucy glared at the ridiculous creature, anger flaring higher. She huffed, and crossed her arms, but nevertheless released her grip from her dagger.

"If it's not mine, then whose is it?"

The dwarf's face suddenly split into a triumphant grin, and he gestured with the blade of his axe back up to the hilltop.

"His."

And Aslan bounded from the outcropping, tearing down the valley at a graceful, yet regal pace.

And Lucy watched his course, with a small smile gracing her features.

The true battle, had only just begun.

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Edmund…in the woods. How? Where? Why was he here?

Why was Edmund there?

Peter's mind spun with a million questions, weaving a tight web of panic about him, and he breathed heavily as he came to the edges of the woods. The flowers were wilting now, the trees seeming foreboding rather than inviting.

He stumbled forwards over the tangled shrubbery, tripping, barely able to hear the calls of his father to stop.

Suddenly, the earth dropped away from beneath him.

He let out a choked gasp, flinging out his arms as he tried to catch his balance, but it did no good. His eyes widened as he noticed the cool, reflective surface of a pool beneath him.

"Peter!"

Two strong arms wrapped around his chest and wrenched him away, and they toppled over backwards together, Peter landing awkwardly against his father's chest. Winded, he panted for a few moments, lying still.

Then he started to struggle again, arms flailing, trying with all his might to free himself. Henry Pevensie sat up slowly, but refused to remove his arms from his son's chest.

"Let me _go!_ Edmund!"

Peter felt his strength sapped from him as his father's arms refused to budge, and he fell back, collapsing against the solid body behind him. He could feel his limbs begin to shake, and he bit down on his lip, hard.

He would _not. _Not when his father was here.

"Peter, it's alright. It's okay. I'm here."

Peter shook his head vigorously as his father pulled him back against his chest. He felt none of the usual comfort he would have done, for the simple fact that this wasn't…truly real.

"But it's not…you're not…you're _dead…_"

And with a sudden, startling realisation, he let out a harsh sob and managed to choke out:

"_I'm _dead…and I killed you…"

He let his eyes slip shut, but still refused to cry. His father stiffened against him, ceasing in the gentle rocking movements he had been making.

"What on earth are you talking about, Peter?"

Peter listened with half dulled ears to the whispering, swirling voices within his head. The world span beneath him, his father's voice the last remaining anchor to reality.

"I…"

He swallowed thickly.

"I…failed you all, every single one…you're dead…and Susan, and little Lucy are…and…Edmund…"

**Peter?**

The voice sounded again, more distinct this time. He took advantage of the momentary lull, and leapt to his feet, weaving his way past trees and pools, pausing for a second at each to stare into their depths.

"Peter, come back here _now! _Peter!"

He ignored the calls from behind him, watching blurred shapes and colours on each differing surface. Not a sign of blue skies, or green grass, or anything which looked like Narnia at all.

**Peter…you can't die. You can't leave me.**

A hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, and his eyes snapped up to look at his father's bewildered face. He started, his wild desperation momentarily halted.

"Just _stop_ and _think, _Peter. I can help you; I know this place. Now _calm down."_

The clearing was filled with the sounds of heavy, gasping breaths, as Peter stood still and searched his father's face for the strength he craved.

"Listen to me."

Henry Pevensie shook his son gently, as though to physically knock some sense into him. Peter had always been so level-headed, so sensible. There was a wild desperation in his eyes which the elder Pevensie did not like, at all.

"There is only one way back where you came from; just stop, and listen. Listen to your heart, Peter. _Trust _in it."

Their eyes met.

"Trust in me."

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The lion had said that this would not be his final task.

But he could not afford to think upon that now; he had to get Peter back, to wherever he may have come from. That, and nothing else, the lion had said. He had wished for this one chance, and he wasn't about to waste it.

"Son, it's not your fault. No more than it is the fault of the sun that it is doomed to set. Sometimes things happen because they cannot be changed; for a reason."

Peter blinked confused, doubtful eyes up at him, but he seemed to be listening. Henry Pevensie placed hand on either side of his son's face, determined to get through to him somehow, to rid his eyes of that terrible weight.

"No matter what happens, no matter how many times you may fall, you need only clamber back to your feet to right the wrong. Yes, sometimes you'll fail. Yes, someday you will fall for good."

Those sky blue eyes were begging to clear, lighten like a ray of sunshine of a dreary day. The weight was lifting, the glimmer of hope beginning to shine once more in his son's face.

"But until that day comes, you just stumble back up and carry on. Can you do that, Peter? For me?"

"I…but you…you'll still be gone…won't you?"

Henry felt a stab of pain sear across his heart, and he drew his trembling child to him, enfolding him in a comforting embrace. He held Peter's head to his chest just as he had done when he had held him for the first time, beside a hospital bed at midday in mid spring.

"But I'll never be gone, Peter. Not as long as you, and the others, remember. You can always find me; right here."

He placed a broad hand over Peter's heart, as he drew away, looking him fondly in the eye. Peter smiled weakly at him, and Henry ruffled his hair affectionately.

"That's my brave boy."

**You know why?**

Henry hastily steered his son to the pool beside them, which the lion had showed him to earlier. It was not the largest, nor the smallest in the wood. But it was quite possibly the most simply beautiful; surrounded by small patches of blue flowers with bright leaves.

The earth had begun to shake.

Leaves and branches snapped and tumbled in a spiralling arc downwards, and the surface of the pool began to ripple, imploding inwards as a deep, rumbling sound rose beneath them.

**Because I _love _you.**

Edmund's voice echoed endlessly around the entirety of the wood. Peter had begun to shine with an unbearably bright sheen, and rays of pure white shot out of the pool, engulfing his son in a webbed cocoon of light.

Peter suddenly looked afraid.

"Daddy…I'm…frightened. What if I'm not strong enough? What if I fail again?"

Henry Pevensie smiled through a haze of blurred, salty tears.

"Then remember, and search within yourself…and I'll lend you the strength to carry on."

As Peter began to fall back towards the now turbulent surface of the pool, Henry stumbled forwards to bid one last farewell.

"I'll always be with you…always…and I'll see you again, I swear it!"

There was a sound like the chiming of a gong, and a shudder of immense power struck the wood, sending trees swaying and creaking in the shockwave.

"I love you, and Susan, and Lucy…and Edmund…don't forget to tell the others…please?"

Henry Pevensie cried out in pain as the blinding light intensified, and a hissing whisper followed by the crashing of liquid upon dry earth announced the last goodbye.

_And I…love you._

Henry smiled at the echo of his son's voice, and sunk to the forest floor, alone once more in his solitary, aching emptiness. He stared at the calming surface of the pool where his son had disappeared, and reached forward to retrieve the damp, sky blue petals which now floated serenely upon its face.

He would return to them.

He would find his way home.

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**A/N: Edmund was very mature in this chapter, and Cifel slightly weaker than usual. They, too, have sort of swapped positions. From here on in, there is only a bit more angst, then lots of fluff.**

**Cifel: (fast asleep)**

**He he…yeah, he's worn out, poor thing…**

**Next chapter: The battle ends, at last. How…we'll just have to see.**

**You review, me read, me write, me update. Savvy?**


	39. Chapter thirty nine

**A/N: I got my first real criticism! Wow, what a refreshing change…(not that it was particularly pleasant) but I appreciate any type of review (yes, even flames. They make me laugh. But I'd really rather not get any, if I can help it.) **

**Last chapter of real angst…(sighs) oh well. There's always the sequel!**

**So anyway, feeling a little discouraged but I'm sure I'll survive…I did vow to finish this if it killed me, after all…**

**The battle is being held in the mountain range around the original battle field we saw in the movie, in the valley behind the hills where Edmund once stood with the archers (just thought I'd mention it).**

**Also, I was going to write a one-shot for some light relief but have concluded I don't have time. However, I have asked a very able writer (you know who you are!) to do it instead as a special request. Keep an eye out and see if you can spot it! And an extra special thanks to the author who so graciously agreed to do this for me!**

**And, as ever, thank you all for your reviews! (Gets tearful) Ah, so sad, yet so exciting to finally be nearing the end!**

_This is Peter_

**This is Edmund**

Chapter thirty nine

Peter had never thought on what it was like to be suddenly wrenched back into your own, dead, unmoving body. I doubt many people have. It wasn't at all like waking from a deep sleep, as it had been written in fairy tales when a beautiful princess is woken by a handsome, regal prince.

He felt a sense of flying through thin, cold air, then a jerking motion, and quite suddenly he was slammed with unaccountable force back to reality.

It hurt more than he thought it would.

Even more so than actually dying in the first place. That had been peaceful, and calm…and, altogether, less frightening. This, however…

This hurt like _hell._

He shuddered vigorously as he felt his very heart leap in his chest, and then slowly, tentatively, begin to beat once more. His whole body felt like one single mass of lead, as the stilled blood in his veins shifted reluctantly.

He drew fresh, clean air into his parched, stale, dust filled lungs. He convulsed violently, and bolted upright only to double over in pain, crusted scabs of blood on his shoulder crackling and showering the stone floor with crimson.

Through a haze of dancing, blazing bright light, he felt a steady, cold hand on his shoulder.

He choked.

Recoilingin pain, he backed against something reassuringly solid. The hand, however, refused to let him go, and he felt a sudden wave of sheer agony.

Then a refreshing, cool relief.

Soothingpulses of warmenergy were searing across his beaten form, tickling slightly as they met an injury. It was very peculiar, feeling your own skin and flesh knit itself back together again, but at that moment, Peter cared little.

Just as he felt almost whole again, and cautiously raised his head and unfolded his body, his head snapped to the side as a second hand impacted hard with his cheek with a sharp slap.

"You're such an _idiot!_ How could you do this to me? I…I was…you…"

Peter's head span with the force of the blow and a hand automatically went to his cheek, feeling red, stinging flesh there. Disorientated, he blinked in surprise as he was suddenly assaulted with an armful of younger brother.

"You're so selfish, you could've…"

He felt a drowsy smile grow across his face as he slowly registered that Edmund had launched himself at his older brother, and was now huddled against his chest with fists clenched.

Edmund was shaking.

With anger or fear, Peter couldn't tell.

His question was answered as he carefully encircled his brother's back, only to hear harsh sobs begin to erupt from somewhere in his shirt. He shook off the last shroud of dizzy confusion as his chest grew suspiciously damp.

"No, wait…I forgot…you _did _die…"

Edmund let out a bitter chuckle strangled with a string of sobs, and he weakly slammed a clenched fist into Peter's shoulder in anger, but Peter only smiled. He tightened the embrace, glancing down at the mess of dark hair beneath his cheek.

"I was…so…scared…"

Peter's face fell as he barely caught the whispered, choked proclamation. Edmund sounded…terrified. More scared than Peter had ever heard him, even when he was a very small child. He let out a deep breath, and gently rubbed the hollow between his brother's trembling shoulder blades.

"Hey, hey. M'sorry…Ed. But I really couldn't do nothing, not when you…well…you do understand?"

His own voice was scratchy and hoarse, and he winced at it sounded. It seemed to work for a moment, as Edmund relaxed, then suddenly stiffened, and raised himself off Peter's chest to stare at him with desolate, wild eyes.

Angry, yet so terribly afraid.

"You just have to always be the hero…always the bloody _hero…_heroes _die, _Peter!"

Peter smiled gently as he brushed a wayward tear from his brother's freckled cheek, then dropping his hand to rest comfortably on Edmund's neck.

"And I did. But it seems, Edmund, that you're just too bull-headed to let me go."

Peter stood up straighter, andpushed awaythe dark hair from his brother's forehead before drawing him back towards himself for a tight embrace. He rested his head against Edmund's as he rocked them both, and then muttered in his ear:

"Thank you."

Then quieter still, barely a whisper:

"I was scared, too."

Edmund chuckled weakly as he carefully drew away from Peter, scrubbing furiously at his eyes, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Peter just shook his head, exasperated, but smiled fondly nonetheless.

Edmund fixed him with an abruptly serious gaze, which burned with the stubborn fire which Peter had missed so dearly.

"Just…just don't do it _ever _again, or I swear I'll…I'll resurrect you then kill you again! And then I'll-"

Peter laughed as he clapped a hand to Edmund's mouth, stemming the flow of threats and curses as he levered himself and his brother off the stone floor.

"Woah, hold it there, squirt! Alright, alright, I get the point. I'll…I'll try, at least, not to. Though no promises."

He grinned, his eyes dancing with mischievous amusement as they stood on stiff, aching legs in the dying light of the sunset, fiery shadows dancing about the cave walls.

"Knowing you, we'll need more than just my stubbornness to keep us out of trouble…ow!"

Edmund cuffed him about the head, and Peter rubbed at it, affronted, but Edmund could only glare for so long before they both burst out laughing, their stifled joy echoing around the enclosed space.

And suddenly the sky didn't seem so dark anymore.

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Well, Cifel mused detachedly, this was certainly an unconventional way of greeting a person who was back from the dead.

He watched in growing confusion as the two brother's bantered playfully, the previous peril and sorrow seemingly forgotten.

Humans really were remarkable creatures.

"SQUIRT indeed! I'm almost as tall as you are, Mr high and mighty!"

"Okay, okay! It was just a little payback for all the 'Pip' comments…"

Hesitation.

"Hey, Peter? I…uh…"

Cifel raised an eyebrow as Edmund swallowed, seemingly suddenly at a loss as to how to form the words. Peter just smiled, and ruffled his brother's hair affectionately.

"Don't worry; I understand. And the same to you."

Sometimes your heart speaks the words your lips cannot convey, whether you will it to or not.

Cifel couldn't help a small smile as Edmund breathed a soft sigh of relief, and Cifel took his cue, clearing his throat softly as both brother's turned.

"Peter, Son of Adam. Are you well enough to hold a sword?"

Well, there was no point in beating about the bush. They had wasted precious little time in reunion, but somehow, Cifel had not found it in himself to break the moment. It seemed so…well; he couldn't even begin to describe it.

Edmund shot Cifel a dirty look and opened his mouth to speak, but his brother beat him to it with a hasty, anxious glance Edmund's way.

"Yes, I think so. I only ache a little."

Cifel nodded as Edmund huffed, and crossed his arms indignantly. Cifel ignored him, scanning the hilltop for any sign of the scout he had sent for. He spotted the griffin, and signalled for imminent combat.

He turned back to face the Son's of Adam, face set in a grave, stony expression.

"According to my scout, the battle for Narnia has already begun only a few leagues away, to the eastern valleys beside the field of battle upon which you fell."

He jerked his head for them to follow, and briskly left the small hollow, hefting his own sword onto his back and gathering the shards of the witch's as he went.

He would need them soon.

"Are our sisters there?"

Edmund spoke up, as he and his brother struggled to keep up with the guardian's fast pace. Cifel's face grew dark.

"I believe so. As is…the lion."

As they reached the crest of the hill, Cifel placed his two forefingers carefully in his mouth and made a shrill, whistling sound. Within seconds, a large, rust coloured griffin appeared at their side, wings folding with a creak as it landed.

"Grimold; we must reach the field of battle immediately. Have you the strength to carry the two Son's of Adam upon your back?"

Its golden eyes narrowed as it bristled imperiously, feather's standing on end, and fixed Edmund and Peter with a beady eye.

"I shall find the strength to do so, my Lord. You may trust in me."

Cifel nodded curtly, and looked to the eastern horizon. A dark swirl of clouds had begun to gather above the plain of battle. He snorted.

The witch never had been very subtle.

Meanwhile, Grimold was trying to convince Peter and Edmund to get on his back. They seemed unsure where precisely to begin. Cifel rolled his eyes and marched over.

Edmund gave a surprised yelp as he was bodily lifted into the air and dumped just behind the wing joint, with a grunt from Grimold. Peter began to snicker, but gave a small gasp of his own as he, too, was placed a little more gently behind his brother.

Cifel flexed his own wings, and crouched, bringing his hand once more to his mouth to give a loud, piercing whistle. Creatures of all races rose to their feet, smaller ones clambering onto the backs of others with swift efficiency.

Cifel smiled.

As they all rose into the air in one simultaneous action, he heard assorted contrasting exclamations from beside him.

"I'm really not sure I'm going to like this…"

"Oh, do stop whining, Ed!"

An accompanying whoop of exhilaration announced that Peter was very much enjoying the flight more than his brother was. Cifel glanced over, to see the younger give a nervous glance down at the ground dropping away beneath them, and the elder grinning widely as he wrapped his arms around his younger brother's chest to stop him from falling sideways.

He caught Grimold's eye, and the bird winked.

Cifel barely concealed a smirk as the griffin suddenly dropped a few feet, and Edmund screamed while Peter let out a good natured laugh, face flushed with the thrill of the flight. The guardian's face split into a grin of his own as he heard the following exclamations.

"Watch it, birdy! I nearly _fell!_"

"BIRDY! I'll show you 'birdy', young sir!"

Shrieks of laughter and terror filled the air once more, and Cifel allowed himself the merest of soft chuckles as the griffin soared this way and that in his quest for vengeance of the insult.

They would surely be alright, on the field of battle. If they got there alive, of course…

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"_Understand…the future of Narnia rests on your courage."_

Lucy recalled those words, the words spoken by the very creature who now drew nearer and nearer to the witch. She felt a sudden stab of fear, as she watched him bound towards the centre of the field, creatures on both sides flocking to get out of the way.

"Please…my…queen…"

Startled, she whirled about to find a faun, part of his face drenched in blood, tugging desperately on her skirt. Hastily, she knelt down and gently tipped his head back, pouring a small droplet of fire flower juice into his mouth.

She waited for him to swallow, then capped it and turned back to the battle, scouring the ranks for any sign of a golden mane.

Susan, she could see, was furiously firing arrows this way and that, mainly towards the small defensive cluster of creatures which had gathered around the witch's chariot. Lucy shuddered.

Where were Peter and Edmund now? Were they near, or far away? Were they safe?

Were they even alive?

Lucy watched the ring of defence around the witch fall as a combination of Susan's assault and the collaborated effort of a group of centaurs broke their ranks. She clenched her fists tightly as she saw Aslan emerge from the shadow of the witch's army towards her.

Then frowned.

Aslan had stopped. Halted in his very bound, turning slowly to look up at the sky. For a moment, her heart stopped as she thought he was looking straight at her, perched as she was near the top of a hill beside Susan.

Then she realised Aslan was looking slightly above her.

She moved to look, but froze as she saw the witch raise her blade with a flourish, taking advantage of the great lion's momentary weakness.

Lucy started forwards desperately, crying out a strangled warning:

"ASLAN!"

Even as Susan cried out another:

"Lucy, NO!"

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**A/N: I thought I'd make this reunion slightly different. He he he…I can't believe I made Edmund actually _slap _Peter. What a hypocrite that boy is! Oh well, we wouldn't love him if he wasn't that way…**

**Nice to have some normal interaction from Peter and Ed at last…lucky Peter's back to playing big brother again! He'll be alright now, I think…**

**Cifel: Blood! Swords! Action! I'm gonna kill that bitc-**

**(Slaps hand over his mouth) Anyway…(sheepish smile) you get the point. Next chapter will be the…oh…about the third last. Not including the epilogue. Maybe. I don't know!**

**But we are near the end. Oh yes, very near.**

**Peter: Yeah…um…ohcEEcho thought you guys would be more likely to listen to me, so…(clears throat) please review! Seriously, I need coffee…**

**Edmund: Need…energy…can't…go…on…**

**You heard!**


	40. Chapter forty

**A/N: Attention! This is the last chapter, besides the epilogue (which will be far longer than previous chapters, and probably take longer to write). Well, it's been a long and bumpy ride, but all the loose ends are going to tie up here!**

**Well, most of them, anyway…**

**Point of mild interest: while perusing random current pictures of the actors who play Peter and Edmund, I suddenly realised something really quite funny; Edmund's actor has grown about a foot, and now stands only about an inch or two shorter than Peter's.**

**How ironic! (cringes) At least they didn't have to feed the guy a potion like I did in order to make him grow…**

**The poem interwoven into one of the scenes is one I wrote myself; I'm actually quite proud of it. Don't steal! Ask me if you want to copy it or something … (unlikely, but still…just making sure).**

**This chapter contains Lucy, Aslan and Jadis POV. Be warned, it may get a little confusing.**

Chapter forty

Cifel ducked in the air as he saw the girl stumble and turn in her flight, staring back at her assailant with wide, fearful eyes. He cursed loudly as he put on a burst of speed, drawing his blade with eyes fixed upon the dwarf's unprotected back.

He had realised from the moment he set eyes on the dwarf that he was not entirely what he seemed; he smelt fishy (quite literally, as he had evidently sat beside that river for quite some time). And now, as the creature raised the head of his axe above the defenceless child's shocked, frozen form, he knew his fears had been confirmed.

He couldtell the influence of the witch from a mile away. But he had not wished to alert her of his insight into her plans.

He kept his gaze fixed upon the back of 'Rabadash's' neck, determined not to allow the girl's terrified expression to stay his hand. If he was merely a fraction out of line, he would cut off her arm with the dwarf's head.

He gritted his teeth and swung the blade with a yell as he dropped in his flight, an ominous swish and then a thump announcing that he had found his target. He drew upwards with a strong beat of his wings, watching with morbid fascination as a spurt of blood from the severed neck splattered crimson all over the girl's dress.

He had no time to watch the proceedings, however, as the older girl had jumped down to drag her sister to her feet. They should be safe, now. That particular attack had come from an unexpected angle, and judging by the older girl's grim, livid expression, no other assailant would meet a kinder fate.

He raised his sword once more, idly tutting as blood trailed out behind him from the tip. The dwarf had been grating on his nerves, anyhow. His fist clenched about the shards of the witch's blade as he saw her, blockaded within a thinning wall of defence.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Grimold touch lightly down on a nearby hill, and the two Son's of Adam slid off him, Edmund bearing an expression of relief, Peter of reluctance. Grimold took flight once more, and came up to fly just behind Cifel himself.

The guardian closed his eyes, the wind whipping at his hair and sending soft feathers spiralling out behind him.

Freedom reared before him; he could taste it on the very tip of his tongue, feel it singing a surreal song within the air he breathed. His land begged for release, cried out for vengeance.

His eyes snapped open.

On this day, upon this field, creatures fell in the name of the way, the truth, and the light. The quest for salvation, for the freedom of the realm, lingered yet in the hearts of all the creatures in the land.

They had nothing but hope left.

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Susan's very blood had frozen in her veins at the sight. That horrible creature, sneaking up behind her sister like a contorted shadow. For one terrible, gut wrenching moment, she had feared it would be her Lucy's last.

But then…a winged, humanoid creature had decapitated the dwarf even as Susan had knocked an arrow to her bow and took aim. She had nearly released it in shock, gazing in awe as two huge, widespread wings flexed powerfully in the currents of wind.

'Well, this has certainly been a strange day.'

She resolved to ponder on it no more, and to simply take their good fortune at face value; the first time she had done so in a long time. She had forgotten long ago what it was to simply, childishly, accept and believe. It had always seemed so foolish to blindly follow an invisible path with no guiding light to show the way.

Maybe it was she who had been the fool, all along.

As she clasped her little sister close to her side protectively, she shivered as she felt sticky blood seep onto her hands. God…this could have been Lucy's life, spilling out across the shining grass.

Susan's brow furrowed as Lucy glanced up at her, then over her head. Her sister's mouth fell open in shock, and then turned to an expression of complete and utter joy and rapture, raising an eager hand to point excitedly at the top of a hill in the distance.

"Oh, Susan! Look, Susan, look!"

Susan looked, confused.

And as her heart leapt in joy mirroring the emotion shining in her sister's round, flushed face, she suddenly felt more whole than she had felt in years. She felt her eyes welling with salty moisture, and then slipping silently down her cold cheek with relieved joy.

She clutched Lucy tighter to her as her little sister let out a choked laugh and buried her tear stained face in Susan's side.

"Oh, thank _God…"_

Susan smiled tremulously, eyes riveted on the two solitary figures, stood defiantly upon the grassy hill which seemed so near, and yet so far, away.

"Thank…God…"

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Edmund leant heavily against a nearby rock as he caught his breath, glaring as his brother hid a smile behind a hand which was shaking with suppressed. He had never flown before…and vowed now to _never _do it again as long as he lived.

"_You _shut up! Just because you can keep the contents of your stomach intact…"

Peter patted his back consolingly, but still chuckled lightly. Edmund scowled, and then his face fell as he surveyed the carnage before him.

He shuddered.

"Battles are ugly affairs... I never really understood what he meant by that."

Edmund decided not to ask, as he stood up straighter, moving closer to Peter as they stood alone atop the hill, their hair tossing about their heads as a swift cold breeze whipped past them.

"I never thought…it'd come to this."

Peter turned to look at him, smiling sadly, a haunted look in his eyes. Edmund closed his eyes and drew a deep, steadying breath as Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him closer to him.

He rested his head against his older brother's, smiling as Peter's familiar smell wafted across his senses, soothing his trembling nerves.

Peppermint… and blood.

But it would wash away; like everything else, it could be wiped clean and start afresh. All it needed was the strength and courage to begin the cleansing.

They moved apart as if of one mind, both faces becoming drawn into a tense grimace, a shadow of emotionless resolve and determination dancing like a roaring fire within their eyes.

China blue met deep brown for what would, perhaps, be the last time.

"Ready?"

It was a hushed whisper; strong, but barely discernable beneath the wind's breath. Edmund smiled weakly, as they simultaneously drew their swords with a ringing echo.

"Am I ever not?"

And they were; after all their trials, all their sufferings, they were finally ready to face the final test; the destinies which fate itself had so cruelly, yet so kindly, gifted them at birth.

But they would not face it alone.

For to love another person…is to never be alone.

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The guardian appeared almost like a shadowy reaper of death as he ploughed through her carefully constructed defences towards his goal. She smiled mockingly, watching those pretty emerald eyes shine in anger.

They had been so much nicer as a bright red…

But no matter; she had expected no less from Aslan's second in command. And the silly, foolish child would need more than just anger to defeat her. She was the embodiment of evil; only the very antithesis of evil itself could defeat her.

And he possessed none of those qualities.

Why, she had ripped his very heart from his chest with her own hand. Felt its pulsed beat wither and die within her palm, even as he gasped, choked, and eventually screamed in pain.

He was no more than a shadow of his former self; and a shadow is made merely of darkness and the deepest fears of mankind.

The lion was currently otherwise occupied, trapped within a defensive ring of Minotaur's which she had designated to this specific purpose. However…she was slightly worried by the stampede of re-enforcements which the angel had brought with him.

In fact, it seemed almost that their forces were now evenly matched.

But it would make not a scrap of difference; the eldest Son of Adam was dead, forced by his own hand to kill himself. The prophesy would never be fulfilled, and an empty throne would forever stand testimony to her victory till the end of time.

Jadis raised a radiantly smirking face to the sky, and quite suddenly reeled in horror.

Two figures had alighted upon the hill to the west; painfully, terribly familiar, but utterly _impossible._ No. Surely her eyes deceived her…

But there was no mistaking it…it was the eldest Son of Adam. Golden hair tossing in the wind, arm wrapped tightly around his younger brother's shoulder, and cold blue eyes now staring straight back at her with a burning fire.

She shuddered.

The deep magic had yet again thwarted her, ripped her victory from her very closing grip.

She would not go down without a fight…she would take the four humans, the lion, and the guardian…and the entire realm…with her.

Jadis raised the shattered, but nevertheless still deadly wand in her hand and shoved it with disinterest into a nearby faun's throat.

She shivered with a delicious thrill as he gurgled, his lungs failing him, then collapsed like a rag doll, limp and fading.

Her blood, if it were to be spilt, would be blessed with the blood of the innocent.

And thus, she would have her revenge.

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Cifel felt a small sense of triumph as his blade hewed through flesh of all sorts and textures, coupled with a shudder of revulsion. It was really quite disgusting that a creature of his stature had been reduced to such crude methods of violence.

Unfortunately, it was necessary. As was always the way in war.

Blood which was not his own slid down his face and matted his hair into straggly crimson strands. A single trickle slipped into his mouth and he spat out violently as he gagged.

It tasted quite _vile._

He froze as two chips of icy dignity met his own gaze, and his own eyes narrowed as he idly wiped the blood from his face. He shot forwards as she smirked at him, decapitating a nearby bear with a vicious blow.

He leapt lightly to the ground, his wings retracting and fading in a swirl of soft feathers.

She raised her blade, and Cifel clutched his own sword in one hand, and the reassuring weight of the shards of the witch's other sword in his palm lent him strength.

They began to circle each other.

Their eyes were locked in an inner battle of wills, icy grey boring into smouldering green. With neither word nor warning, the witch lunged forward, and Cifel parried her blow with ease, a wild grin splitting his face.

This battle was _his _to rule. The fate of his land, of his charge…rested where it belonged at last.

In the palm of his hand.

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Edmund and Peter attacked in a frenzied blur of shining metal; ruthlessly carving a path through the ranks of the witch towards the ring of minotaur's which enclosed Aslan.

Neither looked at the other, nor spoke a word. But they seemed to be of one mind, of one will, turning this way and that in an intricate dance of power. When one's back grew exposed, the other immediately was there beside them, blocking it from peril.

Neither felt tired, nor did their strength wane as the enemies grew crueller and more skilled. They faced each oncoming fight together with fresh, renewed determination, until they had finally fought their way to Aslan's makeshift prison.

Not that the lion needed much help; he was merely repressed by the sheer weight of numbers pressing in upon him. But the creatures of darkness were not expecting an assault from behind them.

They fell with ear rending shrieks, but neither boy flinched at the pain they inflicted. They faces remained impassive, only a slight frown of concentration marring their brows.

When they stood united, they created a force which even the greatest creatures of evil cowered and ran from, fleeing in fear of their lives.

The revered, long awaited monarchs of the realm; truly the saving grace which Narnia had awaited for so many ages.

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Aslan felt his heart burn with loving pride as he watched all three of his children fight with a strength beyond what they were physically able of, drawing upon their inner prowess.

No, no longer children.

His eyes sought out the witch, now engaged with furious battle with Cifel; his first born, the first of his creation. He could still remember the first moment those drowsy emerald orbs had smiled adoringly up at him.

He, too, had grown beyond the boundaries of his duty.

And that was true courage.

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Cifel knocked her blade to the side, and relished in the split second of complete and utter terror he saw in her eyes.

Before he drove the shard of her own blade straight into her heart.

He grinned weakly as she raised the blade which had once been wielded alongside the shard embedded in her chest, trembling but still smirking, and plunged it into the cavity in his shoulder which once had held his own heart.

It ripped through the scar like tissue paper.

Cifel refused to scream, only feeling a weak, half hearted tremor of protest from his body as they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to fall.

After a few moments, they sank to the ground together, each breathing heavily.

"This is…not…the end…_angel…_"

She hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes flashing with anger filled with utter detestation. A trickle of blood oozed down her lip, slipping down her chin and dripping from her neck. He cocked his head to the side, that infuriating smirk curling his lips as his eyes glittered with malicious enjoyment.

"Oh, but I think you will find it is."

He drew back his blade, and brought it down with crushing force upon her exposed neck, her relic of Aslan's mane falling about her headless shoulders like a cascading curtain falling upon the final encore.

"Or at least, it is now."

He dropped the shard and his sword to the floor, and pulled the blade lodged in his chest out with slow, agonising precision. He studied it with drowsy disinterest as the world began to spin and grow dark around him, noting the surface of the metal was completely untainted by blood.

"Goodbye…your _majesty._"

He managed to mutter, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over her limp body, chain mail and the soft tresses of the relic mane cutting into his side.

As the world grew blurred around him, he just managed to catch sight of two sorrowful, cat shaped amber eyes in the darkness.

And he smiled weakly.

"…Aslan…"

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In the aftermath of the battle, all was deceptively calm. After the witch's army had retreated, having seen their leader fall, the remains of Aslan's followers gathered up the (few, thanks to Lucy) dead and prepared them for burial. Once this was done, they carried their fallen comrades back to camp, wearily setting about raising tents, and crawling into comfy corners to sleep.

For the four Pevensie's, it seemed so silent even the smallest sound would break their resolve.

They stood facing each other, Peter, Edmund and Lucy all covered in blood, sticky and sweaty, but they didn't care. Susan's hair was in complete disarray, but for once, she didn't reach up to fix it.

There was an awkward pause.

And then, Lucy smiled, and started forwards joyfully.

It was a simple reunion; no questions asked, no exclamations of either sorrow or joy. Lucy latched on to Edmund, who wrapped his arms around her, while Peter held a shaking Susan to him while simultaneously curling his free arm around his brother's neck.

They all sank to the ground, too weary to cry, too filled with bitter sorrow to laugh. They simply sat, and basked in each other's familiar presence, till their tremors ceased and the world grew quieter still around them.

And the land of Narnia rejoiced, for salvation had come at last; in the form of four, perfectly ordinary, but somehow extraordinary children who grew stronger and wiser with each stumbling step of the way.

And they had emerged, whole, changed, and not entirely unscathed; but all the better for it.

But most importantly, they were together at last.

And that meant more than any battle, defeat, failure or even victory, ever could.

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**This is not the end! Still the epilogue to go…**

**A/N: So. Susan believes once more, Cifel is well on the way to a full recovery, Lucy is just as valiant as ever and Peter and Edmund are getting some well needed rest.**

**Now all that is left, is to tell the tale of their departure…**

**About Cifel and his heart…angels don't technically need a body to live. The soul of an angel can appear as anything, (for instance, a dove or a shroud of mist) but they prefer to remain in humanoid form (as, according to the bible, humans were made in the image of God).**

**However, the heart has become a vessel of all positive emotions, and so without it and angel is almost completely lost. They become 'fallen angels', and thus, Cifer (as the witch renamed him) was born. Cifel is, however, back now for good.**

**The next update, as an epilogue, may take slightly longer to update. Expect it to be up in about two to three days…who knows, I may just get it done in one day, but no promises. **

**Cifel: You know the routine! Review, and ohcEEcho would like to know if anyone has any questions which she could answer in the 'special features' section, which will be up after the epilogue…**

**Either way, review!**


	41. Epilogue: Part One

**A/N: We come to it at last…the final passage in Ironic Synchronicity: First of the 'Trilogy of Faith', as I've decided to call them. That may change, however. As ever, I would like to thank my fantastic reviewers for all their help and support in getting this far. **

**I can't quite believe it; it's nearly the end! (cries) **

**The poem interwoven into one of the scenes is one I wrote myself; I'm actually quite proud of it. It is basically Aslan speaking to Cifel, or any of his children. Don't steal! Ask me if you want to copy it or something … (unlikely, but still…just making sure). **

**This chapter jumps forward in time as it goes. Any time change will be stated at the top of each new time zone. Any other sections will be in the same time zone from the last designated date. **

**Special features will be up shortly! **

Epilogue: Part One

Aslan felt a weary, fulfilling sense of inner peace as the sun set over the glistening eastern sea. From the far off tiers of Cair Paravel, the fading repertoire of joyous music had lulled itself into a quiet, peaceful tone. The sand beneath his paws held the lingering warmth of the long day, and the sound of their footsteps upon it was soothing to his aching ears.

It had been a wonderful sight; to see the four thrones upon the cold dais filled at long last. But even more rewarding was the beaming faces of all of his children, welcoming their new monarchs with revering awe.

_Little child, cry away _

_Why are you alone today? _

_Behind those bars _

_Of gilded white _

_Will you cry again, tonight? _

It had been a truly magnificent spectacle, followed by vigorous dancing and enthusiastic merrymaking. Aslan had watched in fond amusement as all four of the new monarchs had eagerly endeavoured (some succeeding faster than others) to join in the dancing with determination. After many hours of exhausting routine, the new High King had most courteously bid his guests a farewell, and herded three reluctant siblings off to bed.

Strange that even as the newly crowned King's and Queen's of Narnia, they still maintained a youthful quality which made their faces shine with radiance.

_Little child, shedding tears _

_Why have you so many fears? _

_You cannot always _

_Stay deep inside _

_Will you flee again, to hide? _

Yes, a joyous day indeed.

"I still can't believe you made _me _crown the brat, Aslan."

Came the soft, still slightly indignant tone from his side. The lion chuckled, the wind tossing his golden mane into a frenzied dance about his head as he turned to look at his companion.

"I could see the pride in your eyes, Lucifel, my child. You know it is futile to attempt to deceive me."

"Well, it was worth a try, at least…"

Cifel muttered quietly to himself, and Aslan paused in their slow, drowsy march to glance up at the guardian with a gentle gaze. Cifel's emerald eyes met his own, and he frowned reproachfully.

_Little child, close your eyes _

_Why can you not see the lies? _

_A beaten heart _

_A broken scream _

_Will you sleep now, and dream? _

"What do you want me to say? You were right, as usual, O wisest high and mighty of the mightiest. You're unending wisdom is beginning to become aggravating, old friend."

Aslan laughed softly, batting Cifel's side as a father reprimands a child, but a twinkle of mischief shone in his eyes. Cifel rubbed the offended torso indignantly, and his face grew suddenly solemn as his gaze lingered upon the eastern horizon.

_Little child, sorrow bound _

_Why can you not make a sound? _

_Your sightless eyes _

_Will never see _

_Will you fight on still, for me? _

"Must you leave, so soon?"

Aslan sighed a long, wispy breath, and felt sorrow once again fill his heart. It seemed things had come around full circle, as they seemed to always do. But at least he could leave in the sure knowledge that all was well within the land dearest to his heart.

"Oh, little one. You have lived so long, and yet still find the courage to question the workings of time?"

_Little child, of mirthless joy _

_Why adhere to my employ? _

_I choke on breath _

_Heart yet breaking _

_Will it be yours, for taking? _

Cifel smiled half heartedly; gaze still fixed upon the fading face of the sun, just slipping down below the glistening surface of the clear waters.

"Though I have learned so much…I fell as though there is yet more I should have achieved. Is it…right? This feeling of inadequacy?"

Aslan sighed.

"Child, even I feel doomed to search forevermore for some higher purpose, some form of destinies end. Have patience, dear one. Our time shall come."

Aslan blinked in surprise as Cifel abruptly turned to face him and leant against the lion's head, hands fisting in his soft mane. The guardian hid his face in Aslan's fur as he murmured somewhat thickly:

"I've missed you so; promise me you shall return. Sooner than a few hundred ages, please?"

_Little child, rise above _

_Why fly high on, for love? _

_The dark leaves dawn _

_The shadow yet lingers _

_Freedom rears, at the tips of your fingers. _

Aslan chuckled, feeling sadness fill his chest even as joy flooded against the tide. There was no telling where the wind would send him; to the south, to the east? Even he knew not when he would return.

"Lucifel; even when I am gone, I shall not have left you. You know that I will always be there."

Cifel nodded, drawing back with a slight flush of embarrassment to his pale cheeks. Aslan clucked his tongue at him fondly, and briefly nuzzled his side, ignoring the half-hearted protests which ensued as a result.

"Do not fear, Lucifel, for there is nothing to be afraid of. You will find your strength, and know your place, when the time comes."

Cifel opened his mouth to speak, but jumped as a far off voice rose above the whispering of the wind.

"Cifel!"

The guardian turned, to look up at a far off window set within the walls of Cair Paravel. The small, night robe clad figure of the youngest Queen of Narnia leant out, waving frenziedly as her hair tossed in the dying sea breeze, grinning.

He grinned, and raised a hand in greeting as her smile widened, and she withdrew with one last enthusiastic cry of farewell.

His smile faltering, Cifel turned.

Only to find he now stood alone; and his face fell as the sun slipped over the rim of the horizon, and the world grew colder about him.

And then he smiled.

_Little child, my dying light _

_Will flicker and burn out tonight _

_Be safe, my one _

_Live on, my only _

_You no longer need fear to be lonely. _

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_The Golden Age: The Third Year of the Glorious Reign of Peter, High King over the Great Realm of Narnia. _

It was really quite a common occurrence within the walls of Cair Paravel to hear raised voices; one might even call it a vital part of daily life. Voices raised in laughter, voices raised in praising song, voices raised in mere eager excitement.

It was most unorthodox, however, to hear any of the four rulers of the realm raising their own voices, but even more unheard of was if it were to be directed towards one another.

And, incidentally, this was precisely what was happening, on a somewhat breezy afternoon in mid-winter.

"Now listen here, Edmund! Just who is High King? I-"

"Don't give me this 'High King' poppycock, I'm your brother! And I am ordering you, as your little brother, to lay down, _now_."

There was a muffled commotion and a yelp of surprise, and two dwarfs which had been on their way to the royal chambers to consult their royal majesties suddenly thought better of it; and promptly turned back to hurry down the corridor.

"Ed, I'm _fine. _It was just a little tumble, that's-"

" 'Little tumble' my tapping regal foot! You _fell _off a horse, Peter. _Your_ horse. And might I add that Dorian has already testified that it was through no fault of his own."

There was a rustle of shifting clothing, a hiss of pain, then an ominous silence.

"Peter, what do you expect me to do? Just sit by idly while you work yourself into an early grave?"

An uncomfortable pause.

"It's not _that _serious. I just stay up slightly later than usual, that's all."

The younger monarch folded his arms, directing the infamous 'disagree with me and face the dire consequences' glare towards his elder sibling, who winced. It had been a tactic often used by their mother, and to great effect.

"Oh yes? And how, pray tell, is sitting up all hours of the night doing paperwork 'slightly later than usual'?"

"You've been spying on me?"

"Don't change the subject!"

Edmund gave an exasperated sigh, and sat down beside his brother on the bed, eying the rather ugly bruise with a concerned scowl. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, before opening them to pull his brother's tunic back down and gently manoeuvred Peter until he was lying on his back.

Peter glared furiously up at him, but the effect was rather broken by the stifled yawn which betrayed him. Edmund raised a delicate eyebrow as Peter lowered his gaze, looking slightly sheepish.

"Well…I suppose a little rest wouldn't hurt. But just to appease you, dearest, darlingest little brother of mine."

Edmund gritted his teeth, and abruptly tugged the discarded blanket at the bottom of the bed up to rest over his brother's chest. There was a short pause as Edmund drew back and leant against the bedpost, drawing one knee to his chest, and looked at his brother expectantly.

"You're not going to move, are you?"

"No."

"You're going to stay here all night."

"Yes."

"Till morning."

"Yes."

"You realise there's still three hours of deeds from the northern borders to get through?"

Edmund frowned, silently cursing the wretched things as he eyed the dark smudges which marred his brother's cheeks, and his pale, slightly sickly looking appearance.

"Go to sleep, Peter."

He murmured, not able to resist a small smile as Peter stifled another yawn and struggled to keep his eyes open, drowsily staring up at the blue, flower speckled canopy above him.

Just as he thought his brother had finally drifted off, a small voice broke the calm peace of the mid-afternoon.

"Thanks…Ed…"

And Edmund could only sigh, shaking his head in fond exasperation. He leant down, and dropped a fleeting kiss to his brother's forehead, brushing flimsy strands of gold from his peaceful face with a tender smile.

The northern border could wait.

For now, Edmund had more important things to deal with.

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The soft pitter-patter of hasty feet filled the silent corridors of the palace, as Lucy Pevensie hurried towards the northern wing. Neither Peter nor Edmund had been down for dinner the previous evening, and a servant girl had informed her that they hadn't been seen since early that afternoon.

As soon as they were up and dressed, Susan had hurried to the library, hoping to find them poring over some deed or another. There had been a lot of paperwork from the borders recently, reports and requests for orders from the forces stationed there.

Lucy thought it all sounded terribly dull, personally.

She knew better of her brother's, however. Edmund, especially, had been very reluctant to allow Peter to take all the work himself and, if they had been in the library at dinnertime, the younger Pevensie would not have allowed either of them to stay up all hours of the night.

So therefore, there was only place they could possibly be.

She skidded to a halt beside the normally bolted door to Peter's bedchamber, and grinned as she found it ajar. Evidently her theory was, indeed, correct.

And she was not disappointed as she eased it open, started, and tip toed forwards with a curious grin on her face. She crept over to stand above the bed, looking down at the two boys now curled up together, fast asleep, and breathing softly.

"Lucy? I…oh."

Susan lowered her voice as Lucy put a finger to her lips, and jerked her head towards the bed. Susan, eyes dancing with mirth, moved quietly forwards to stand beside her sister. They shared a fond glance, as Susan wrapped an arm around Lucy's shoulders as they moved to carefully sit down beside their brothers.

And then, the matress squeaked under their weight.

Edmund shot upwards with a frenzied gasp, while Peter groaned, throwing a groggy hand over his face as the light which Edmund had previously been blocking spilled over his face.

Susan gave a slight curse, then joined her younger sister in snickering quietly as they watched their brother's wake up; albeit rather slowly.

"Mm…Su? Lu…?"

Peter managed to grate out, rubbing his eyes vigorously and wincing at the bright morning sunshine, while Edmund struggled to disentangle himself from the mess of sheets he had trapped himself in.

Lucy reached over to help him, while Susan, still laughing quietly to herself, aided her older brother and levered him up to a sitting position.

"What…are you…mmmph, Lucy! Doing here?"

Edmund managed through a mouthful of bedcover as his little sister pulled it over his head. Peter and Susan shared an amused glance and turned away in order to hide their smiles.

"Well, sleepyheads, now that you're _finally_ up. How about an early morning ride?"

Susan suggested, before tutting and reaching over in order to attempt to force Edmund's hair (which was sticking up at an odd angle) to lie flat. He ducked away, but seemed to consider this proposal.

"Well…I will. Not Peter, though."

Peter sat up straighter.

"Hey, who says I can't? I was under the impression-"

"-well, you were 'impressioned' wrong. Because you're staying in bed today."

Peter gaped as he was abruptly cut off, and frowned at Edmund furiously, but the younger refused to be moved. They stared each other down, as Susan and Lucy watched in tense anticipation for the impending explosion.

It was broken as Peter's face fell comically, and Edmund started.

"Oh go on, Ed! Just a breath of fresh air? Please?"

Edmund choked as Peter's face grew angelically innocent, but folded his arms resolutely and stood his ground.

"No, absolutely not. You need to rest, and I-"

Edmund broke off, as he saw Peter's hopeful smile fall dramatically in an uncanny resemblance to Lucy. His eyes filled with disappointment, and Edmund stiffened.

"Oh no, you're not…don't…stop it!"

But, alas, it was already too late for poor Edmund; for Peter's china blue eyes had widened to their fullest extent and gazed imploringly up at his brother with a petulant, but silent plea.

"Peter, I'm warning you…don't look at me like that…"

Edmund felt his heart sink as Peter's face reverted to the very picture of naïve confusion, his lower lip jutting out in the slightest hint of a pout.

Edmund could feel his iron resolve creaking under the pressure, and his heart sank further still.

"I said NO!"

His brother's face fell in seeming disappointed hurt, and he slowly lowered his gaze dolefully, letting out a quiet, utterly melancholy sniffle.

Edmund couldn't take it any longer.

"Alright FINE! But only for-HEY!"

For Peter's expression had lit up and he had leapt off the bed and to his feet in seconds, and tore out of the room at breakneck speed as Lucy doubled over with laughter at the expression on Edmund's face.

Ah yes, the infamous 'kicked puppy' technique. It had been passed down their father's baby blue eyed ancestors for generations, and had caused both Susan and Edmund many a defeat, for Lucy had also mastered it long ago.

After recovering from shock, Edmund growled and gritted his teeth, also leaping to his feet and dashing off in hot pursuit of his wayward brother.

And the race was on.

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**A/N: Okay, so the stupid connection refused to let me upload the epilogue in one shift because it was too long. Thus, it is now in two sections. **

**Happy reading! **


	42. Epilogue: Part Two

**A/N: The second instalment. Enjoy! **

_**This is Henry Pevensie **_

Epilogue: Part Two

_The Golden Age draws to a close; The Final Year of the Reign of the Prophesised monarch's of Narnia. _

Hunting was an exhilarating experience.

The thrill of the chase, the triumph of the catch, and the crushing disappointment of a failure…it all contributed to the overall appeal of the sport. However, hunting in Narnia was quite unlike hunting within the four Pevensie sibling's own world.

There were no lumbering automobiles, nor rapid-fire pistol with which to cheat the opposition. There was only the tip of your blade, the refinement of your wit and the level of your skill and experience to help you.

Edmund, for one, considered it the highlight of his week.

As the white stag whipped between the trees and disappeared around a bend in the forest path, Phillip slowed to a canter before halting completely, and Edmund leant down to pat his neck, slightly concerned.

"You alright there, Phillip?"

The horse let out a short huff, and wheezed slightly.

"Not as young as I once was…"

Edmund raised a sceptical eyebrow and glanced up as the light patter of hooves alerted him to his sibling's return. Obviously they had been unwilling to go on without him…or maybe they had just lost the stag and needed an excuse to go back.

"Come on, Ed!"

Susan's dark eyes twinkled with mirth as she and Lucy stopped in front of him, Peter turning sharply around a corner in quick pursuit before stopping too. Edmund smiled, gathering the reins into his hands once more.

"Just catching my breath."

Phillip nickered softly, grateful, as Susan sighed exasperatedly and shared a knowing glance with Peter, who rolled his eyes upwards to the forest canopy.

"Well that's all we'll catch at this rate!"

Lucy's sea green eyes caught Edmund's, and she grinned mischievously.

"What did he say again, Susan?"

Edmund inwardly sighed as the two sisters once again ganged up against him. This had become aggravatingly common recently, and Edmund glanced helplessly at Peter, who shrugged.

"You girls stay at the castle; I'll get the stag myself."

Susan mimicked in a falsely deep tone, and she and Lucy broke into a fit of giggles. Edmund slumped in the saddle, Peter giving him a sympathetic look before glancing about, taking in the autumn beauty of the forest.

Then he frowned.

"What is this?"

Edmund glanced down, and hastily followed his brother as Peter slid off his horse. In the center of the forest clearing, there stood quite the strangest structure Edmund had ever seen; it was not made of wood, and yet appeared in the likeness of a tree trunk, bearing neither branches nor parched leaves.

They all circled the strange structure, until Susan paused, and shivered, rubbing her arms as if the wood had turned suddenly cold.

"I feel…strange. As though…well…like a dream..."

"Or a dream of a dream..."

Lucy added vaguely, her eyes clouded with an unreadable flow of emotions. Edmund glanced at her, just in time to see her eyes widen in seeming shock, or recognition.

"…Spare Oom…"

Quite suddenly, to the dismay of her siblings, she turned tail and hurried off into the depths of the trees. The others hastened to follow, crying out warnings and exclamations as the forest grew steadily denser.

"Lu?"

"Not again!"

"Lu!"

Lucy glanced back, a radiant smile now making her face light up with excitement. Edmund grumbled under his breath as a branch Susan had pushed aside came flying back to snap at his shoulders.

"Come on!"

They had now been reduced to fighting tooth and nail to get through, wincing as the twigs and leaves clutched at their clothing and scratched their bare skin, ripping the clothing where they couldn't reach flesh.

"These aren't branches…"

Peter murmured softly, and Edmund glanced up to note that his brother was right. There were no longer in a sea of thick foliage, but rather in a cluster of dark, brown objects which were softly textured.

"They're coats!"

Susan muffled voice sounded from up ahead, and suddenly Edmund felt very strange indeed. His clothes felt baggy and loose on him, and the coats about him suddenly seemed so much larger than they had a moment ago.

And then, all was chaos as they were pressed into a tiny, tight space, all jostling and pushing each other.

"Ow! Ed, that's my foot!"

"Susan, get off me! I can't-OUCH!"

"Shut up, all of you! Let's just-oh!"

Quite suddenly, the enclosed space fell away before them, and they all piled out of the wardrobe to slam into wooden floorboards with cries of surprise and alarm.

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_Llangollen village, Wales. The stately residence of Mr D. Kirke, 4th April 1941. _

Peter groaned, his head spinning as he carefully levered himself up onto one elbow. There was a strange, warm but not entirely pleasant feeling in his limbs, and the base of his palm's throbbed from the impact upon the hard floor.

He glanced up, vaguely noting that his hair, which had previously hung in chin length strands around the side of his face, now obscured half of his vision. He frowned. He had grown his fringe out long ago…

Beside him, Edmund muttered a grumbled curse, and Peter started as he noted his brother's appearance. He was…well…

Eleven.

Just as he had been when…they had first come to Narnia. He frowned, as he recalled the events which had led to their reign in a rush of realisation. And then he raised his head to survey their new surroundings.

They were painfully familiar.

The dead bluebottle still lay on the windowsill, which now reflected the dying rays of the afternoon sun with a soft glow. The wood beneath him was polished and varnished to a mirror like quality, and the walls were a creamy, old fashioned colour.

They were back…well, not _home…_but back to the beginning.

Peter jumped and raised himself higher as he heard echoing footsteps drawing nearer, and stared with slight apprehension as the door creaked open to reveal a thatch of white hair and brightly coloured clothing.

"Ah, there you are!"

The Professor smiled benignly, idly tossing a very familiar cricket ball up and down in his palm. Peter looked to Edmund, whose face bore a look which stated quite clearly that he had just as little clue as Peter did.

The professor leant down, a slight quirk of dimpled cheeks and a gentle smile making his features seem more youthful than many men his age. The children stayed perfectly still, waiting.

"What were you all doing in the wardrobe?"

He asked softly, and Peter looked to his siblings. They all smiled at one another, and Peter shook his head disbelievingly as he turned back to look the professor in the eye with a sheepish grin.

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you, Sir."

The Professor smiled knowingly down at him, and lightly tossed the stitched leather ball to Peter, who snatched it out of the air with a confused frown.

The Professor's smile widened.

"Try me."

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_Weybridge Train Station, London, 24th November 1942; 12:37 pm. _

"Careful, Lu. Mind your feet…there we go."

Peter helped his youngest sister down from the steep steps of the carriage door, and hefted his suitcase more securely under his arm. Lucy stood quietly by as Susan hopped neatly out, straightening her coat as she landed and breathing in the fresh air with a sigh of relief.

Edmundgurnted heavily as he attempted to heave the rest of the luggage out of the door, and Peter reached over to take it from him, smiling gratefully.

Once the last case was safely off the train, Peter reached out to grasp his brother's arm and steadied him as Edmund stumbled tiredly. It had been a very long journey, and even though Edmund had slept through most of it, he was still stiff from sitting still so long.

Peter rolled his eyes as he reached down to retrieve one of the cases, while the others all hastened to grab one of their own.

"Honestly, Ed. I think you had the best time of us all."

Peter winced as he rubbed the sore juncture between his left shoulder and his neck.

"Did you have to lean on me the whole way?"

Edmund frowned petulantly, his eyes glimmering with mirth as he gave his brother an innocent, if slightly sheepish smile.

"But Peter, you make such a wonderful pillow!"

Peter grumbled softly under his breath while their sister's laughed, and decided to take it as a compliment rather than an insult. Their hearts sinking somewhat, they moved carefully through the jostling crowds towards the sign labelled 'Evacuee Collection point'.

Susan snorted.

"Makes us sound like some sort of excess baggage! 'Collection Point' indeed, what a mess…"

Lucy, who was too excited to really care that her sister was acting imperious once again, simply grinned and ducked hastily under the rope which separated the small space set apart for returning evacuees from the rest of the station.

Edmund vaulted thebarrier without incident, while Susan and Peter collected the luggage together in an efficient pile and stood just outside the barrier, Peter noting that he appeared to be the eldest child there.

If they could even be considered children anymore.

There was an excited surge of murmurings as the station clock struck twelve forty five; the designated time for collection sent out to anxious parents.

The four Pevensie children huddled tightly together, sinking down onto their luggage as the chaos began. Unlike the other children, they simply sat quietly and patiently waited for the crowd to calm, except Lucy, who was practically jumping up and down in eager anticipation.

Peter swallowed hard as he caught sight of the sandy, mud coloured uniforms and crimson stained bandages which indicated the return of the wounded soldiers.

Not all those who had left this station would return.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to meet Edmund's dark, concerned gaze, swirling with a mature solemnity far beyond his years. Peter smiled and shook his head, turning away from the returning wounded to stare up at the gate where a seething mass of adults hurried about, trying desperately to find their wayward children.

It was not his right to tell, not his decision to make.

He was no longer the only person there for his siblings, and although this was some comfort, he felt…powerless. Last he had seen, mother had been…a broken woman. How fast would news have travelled from the front line?

Would he have to bear the burden alone, until the dreaded letter finally arrived like the grim reaper itself upon the doorstep?

He didn't think he could bear it.

_**Just stop, and listen. Listen to your heart, Peter. Trust in it. **_

Peter drew a deep breath, and looked inwards to himself. He had grown stronger, more resilient. He would find a way. He could bear the weight. After all, he had governed an entire realm for a great many ages, hadn't he?

But this was…different. A different sort of burden.

"Momma!"

Peter was abruptly snapped out of his reverie as Lucy leapt to her feet, her eyes gleaming with joy as she stared at the distant figure rushing towards them. She seemed so much…smaller.

Or maybe Peter had simply grown bigger.

The eldest Pevensie shuddered as he saw her pale, drawn face, and the way her clothes seemed to hang off her body. Her eyes held a forlorn, broken look, but something shone within its depths which Peter found some small semblance of hope in.

She halted just a few feet away, her haggard face shining with a joy which Peter had not seen since before the war. The shadow of sorrow lingered within their depths, but still they shone with pure, unbelieving rapture at the sight of her four children.

And Peter smiled.

_**I'll never be gone, Peter. Not as long as you, and the others, remember. **_ Helen Pevensie's gaze moved from Lucy, to Susan, to Edmund, and, finally, to Peter. Her face grew brighter and brighter, until she reached her eldest son.

Possessing the forgotten eyes of a dead man was both a blessing, and a curse.

A fleeting shadow of understanding passed between them, and they moved together, both desperately reaching out to the only person with which they could share their agonising pain.

And Peter finally let himself go.

He choked as he clutched his mother's thin shoulders to him, resting his cheek against the coarse, scratchy surface of her coat. She still possessed the lingering scent of the 'Lily of the Valley' perfume their father had given her for her thirty sixth birthday.

At this thought, Peter broke, and no longer repressed the welling tears which had been gathering in his eyes.

The other children surged forwards, their mother touching a hand to Susan's cheek and wrapping an arm around Lucy as the youngest Pevensie buried her tear stained face in her mother's side. Peter drew back, his eyes seeking Edmund's as his brother hovered uncertainly, face hesitant.

He smiled weakly; placing a hand in the small of Edmund's back and giving him a gentle push forwards.

Edmund was rapidly enveloped in the hug, while Peterscrubbed at his face furiously, his family embracing tightly, tears of joy and sadness mixing across their flushed, smiling faces.

Edmund frowned, turned, and looked curiously at his brother. Peter did nothing, suddenly uncertain.

What if he wasn't strong enough?

_**I'll lend you the strength to carry on. **_

Then Edmund smiled, and extended a shaking hand to pull his older brother close to him, wrapping an arm around Peter's waist as their sister's closed in, and soon they were all entangled in a joyful mess of Pevensie.

And as Peter allowed his eyes to slip shut and his head to lean against his brother's dark hair, he realised he had found his strength.

It had been there all along.

_**I'll always be with you… **_

_**Always… **_

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_**Fin. **_


	43. Special Features

**Special features**

**As promised, this is the section where you can see some of the goings on behind 'Ironic Synchronicity'. I've put together all the little things which I discarded, as well as some reflections on the actual process.**

**Enjoy!**

**Deleted scenes:**

Chapter thirteen, original beginning:

_My computer randomly contracted a terrible virus, and I was forced to revert to laptop use for a couple of days. Of course, I couldn't stop updating, but nor could I retrieve the lost data of chapter thirteen. And thus, this was what was later recovered when the computer became resurrected:_

"He's not dead, you know. Not yet."

Edmund slowly raised his head, to look at Cifel, who leant casually against the further wall. He felt his fear contort, and anger reared in its place, overbearing, powerful.

"You."

Edmund would have leapt across the room and locked both hands firmly around the other boy's throat, had he not been so reluctant to leave Peter's side. He felt that, somehow, if he were to let go of his brother's shoulder…he may simply disappear. It was a foolish, childish notion, but it seemed a very real fear to Edmund at that moment.

"What…what did you do to my brother?"

Edmund felt his anger quelled with a fresh, cold wave of despair. Cifel seemed almost to sense this, and suddenly became far more tense.

"Please…"

Cifel sighed, relented, and came to stand beside Edmund. He glanced at Peter for a moment, taking in his now pale features, recalling the boy when he had left him in the crypt so many days ago. He shuddered.

"As I said, he is alive…" He said carefully, as Edmund slumped against the dais in relief "…but barely."

The forgotten scene:

_A completely random fluff scene written off the top of my head in the back of my Maths book at school. I completely forgot about it until yesterday, when my teacher asked me what it was (mega cringe). I lied, pretended it was creative English coursework, and ripped it out to hastily type it up; and here it lies:_

"ED!"

Peter burst out, allowing his head to drop into his hands, exasperated. Edmund pulled an innocent expression onto his face, and sheepishly fixed his gaze upon his feet.

"Will you _please…_"

"…do as I'm told? Never, dear brother mine."

Peter let out a weary sigh, and pulled the broken strap upon the pack towards him, studying the ripped seam with a petulant frown.

"You're impossible."

Edmund's face split into a wide grin as he handed the ripped overlap material to his brother, kneeling down beside the fallen log which Peter sat on.

"Nope. Just improbable."

Peter groaned as he pulled the fragments of the strap together, tying a tight knot in the threaded string about it. Edmund watched in mild disinterest, revelling in the fresh morning breeze which whipped through the trees.

"I do hate it so when you're like this. You remind me of-"

Peter broke off abruptly, and shook his head, a troubled expression clouding his features. Edmund felt suddenly cold.

"Don't…don't ever say that you…hate. It's not true. And…Dad…he wouldn't…"

He swallowed dryly, as Peter placed the pack carefully on the ground in order to free his hands. Edmund frowned in confusion, as his brother leant forwards to wrap his arms gently around his own shoulders.

"Peter? What-"

"Don't ever think like that again; we'll make it back, we'll see him again. I swear we will."

But Edmund could tell from the slight tremor in Peter's voice, that he didn't fully believe in what he was saying.

Nothing was certain; not anymore.

Just what happened to Toll:

_This scene never quite fitted in between Susan and Lucy going to war and the whole chaos with the witch and the boys. It broke the pace, somewhat. It gives insight into the development of Lucy, growing up etc. So instead, I have placed it here for all to see:_

Lucy capped her vial with the stopper shaped in the likeness of a roaring lion, pursing her lips. Susan had reluctantly left to alert the rest of the camp to the disturbance, and possible need for modifications to the battle strategy.

"Lady…Lucy?"

Lucy glanced down, to meet the teary gaze of the small, broken flower spirit. Toll's petalled form was now crumpled and torn, rather like a gale force wind had ripped her to shreds.

Lucy managed a small, encouraging smile as the spirit's eyes swam with unshed of tears.

"Oh miss, I'm so sorry! I couldn't…I was so cold, and I was…afraid…please, my lady, punish me for my weakness!"

Toll seemed desperate to pay penance for her crime; but if, as Lucy had suspected, she had not been acting of her own accord, it was not her blame to bear.

She was already suffering so terribly, after all.

"Nonsense, Toll. It was not your fault. Any one of us could have been in just the same position of you. Would you have condemned an innocent party of a crime not of their own creation?"

Toll hesitated, realising she had been cornered. No matter what she answered, she would be at fault. She smiled weakly as Lucy clasped the spirit's torn hand in her own.

"Don't worry; you'll be alright. And nobody was harmed. It's all over now."

It felt very strange to be the one giving comfort and advice, when she was so often upon the receiving end of such things. Lucy didn't feel so small when she held the power over life or death in her hands; and yet it still frightened her.

Responsibility and power came with a heavy price.

Rabadash: His true nature

_Again, this scene was discarded due to the fact it broke the pace. It was a wrench removing it, as it answers a few questions concerning our dwarf. I eventually rewrote the chapter it was from by allowing the witch to leave almost immediatly after Peter had stabbed himself. Originally, she flees on foot and Rabadash follows:_

The witch spun around with a whirl and clink of chainmail, eyes wild and narrowed as she stared the ridiculous creature down. The dwarf hefted his axe high, raising it in a defensive position before him.

The witch laughed mockingly.

"Foolish dwarf! You really believe yourself a match for _me?" _

Rabadash moved to an offensive stance, cheeks flushing with anger as he surveyed possible flaws in the witch's armour.

"Yer a heartless monster, you! Ye do realise the boy meant ye no harm? All the poor littluns ever wanted was to get 'ome!"

The witch's eyes flashed in anger as she raised her sword, gathering the currents of magic within her and sending tentative pulses through the earth. Meanwhile, she distracted the creature with a counter to his statement:

"Those 'littluns' are treacherous outlanders, with absolutely no claim to the throne! You expect me to stand idly by while the entirety of my realm is forced under their reign?"

"T'was never yer realm, and never will be!"

Rabadash threw his axe with all of his strength, the force of his swing sending it flying through the air at deadly speed. The witch, however, deflected it with a single blow of her own blade, sneering.

"The prophesy is countered; your precious 'High King' dead. There is no salvation left for this world."

She towered over him as he stood his ground, a flicker of uncertainty entering his previously fiery gaze. The witch smirked, and stimulated the tendrils of icy cold to hover just below his ankles, ready to ensnare him within her power.

"Be glad, that you will not live to see your kingdom fall."

And she struck.

_So, Rabadash was not acting of his own accord when he attacked Lucy. I hope that cleared up a few things which have been troubling you concerning the dwarf._

_I will only say this: I had my reasons._

**Random paragraph I wrote for my English class, concerning Narnia:**

The concept of human's ruling Narnia is based on religious connotations. The Bible states that God made humans for the specific purpose of ruling over the animal kingdom. However, now we are about half a century on from CS Lewis, this is less the case.

The right to be free is one of the main structural pillars which shape societal conventions today. There are two views you could take on this Bible passage; either that humans were born to rule, or that humans were born to watch over. As the creatures in Narnia are, in some ways, of just a high a status as the human characters, it seems strange that they cannot rule their own destiny.

In the book 'Prince Caspian' all Narnia creatures are suppressed by the totalitarian rule of a group of humans, who were not intended to ever enter the realm. This suggests that humanity corruption.

**Discarded plot ideas:**

I did actually consider killing off Cifel, along with Peter, and Mrs Pevensie. However, obviously I couldn't quite bear to kill Peter (he is my favourite character, after all) and Cifel became so popular I could hardly just get rid of him.

As for Mrs Pevensie…well, after I killed off Mr Pevensie I couldn't do both parents…however, I have a few concepts in mind for possible further developments in this line. You'll just have to wait and see!

Originally the journey of Peter and Edmund was supposed to last only three chapters. This just goes to show how wrong an authoress can be…it just seemed rushed to simply write it off within a few chapters.

I was going to have Lucy kill the witch, as this was a slightly different take. However, it seemed implausible. No offence to Lucy, but she just doesn't have the stature to carry out such a task!

There was going to be a whole extra section within the journey, in which Peter and Edmund are capture by a group of outlawed mountain dwarfs. This was quite an amusing arc, but didn't quite fit in straight after the battle with the wolves. They were originally supposed to meet Rabadash here, with the Thistlekin tribe.

An extra note of amusement on this…Rabadash was disowned by his tribe due to the fact he accidentally insulted the chief's beard in a drunken stupor; the most heinous insult which can be delivered to a dwarf.

Finally, and quite possibly the strangest…I was going to involve Mr Tumnus somehow, but…(cringes) completely forgot. I am not at all proud of it, and will have to find a way to pop him in the sequel instead...

**The development of Cifel:**

Cifel began as a mere plot device. I needed a sort of messenger between the witch and Edmund, to guide him. I originally intended to kill him off, allowing him to die holding the witch off while Edmund escapes. However, I soon discovered he was very useful for informing the boys how to go about their escape, so I kept him on for a little while.

And then, I began to think. It was a little shallow to simply leave him as a device, as he had some quite extraordinary powers. There had to be a story behind him, some sort of past which makes him so bitter and detached.

So I devised the concept of a guardian, from the biblical context behind the chronicles. I figured that there was God, Jesus, but what of the angels? And so, I developed the idea of having a guardian angel for each land. Ironically (of course) I had named him after an angel: Lucifel, the fallen angel Lucifer's original title.

And so our little guardian grew. Soon, I came up with the idea of a past relationship with Aslan which could allow me to explore the past, and present, formation and workings of Narnia. He simply grew and grew, developing from emotion to emotion and from demeanour to demeanour.

Quite late, I realised I could reflect his own loss of hope with the boys. It allows an outsiders view of their relationship, and I have to say, I've grown very fond of him. He's come a very long way, and I think I could even include him in the sequels…what do you think?

Is there a yet more adventurous future, not to mention past, which I could reveal about Cifel, guardian of the realm?

**The (very brief) development of Toll:**

Ah, Toll. She really was just a plot device, to be honest. She quite literally started as just a flower and…well…I guess she still is just a flower, if an unwillingly traitorous one. That's all there is to say, really…she sort of represents tainted innocence, but that's only really as an afterthought.

**The (brief) development of Rabadash (whose true identity has yet to be revealed):**

Hmmmmm…yes, I'll have to be careful on this one. Rabadash, formerly of the Thistlekin tribe, was supposedly thrown out because during a drunken stupor, he inadvertently insulted the chief's beard.

And thus, he ended up as an outcast in the woods surrounding the mountains. However, he may (or may not) have been recruited into the service of a certain person in a high place. And with that, I'll lead you to ponder his possible significance.

**Special thanks:**

To the wonderful cast and crew who made the movie of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (not that they'd ever be seen dead here, but still) and to, of course, CS Lewis, who started this whole thing!

**Reviewer rewards:**

Most devoted: Capegio. Reviewed almost every chapter, I think! And always with an unorthodox comment or two. Thank you!

Most constructive: Kelsey Estel. Your advice was very useful, even if I didn't follow all of it (sorry, but the other reviewers protested!)

Most encouraging: Shauna. Always with the longest, most encouraging reviews (you made me blush…) thanks so much, honey!

Most amusing: coolmarauders. You made me laugh, and you seemed really involved in the story. Not to mention, my first ever Cifel fan!

Most supportive: Sentimental Star, who not only reviewed every chapter with unfailing loyalty, but also agreed to write a one-shot which I myself was incapable of finishing. THANKS SO MUCH!

And all the rest, thank you all SO SO SO much! You have NO idea how much all your support helped me continue on, regardless of any doubts I may have had along the way! You guys are the BEST!

**Character songs:**

These are just a few songs which I've heard which are totally perfect for some of the characters; I just thought you might like to see them! I was listening to 'Within temptation' while writing the last few chapters…

Cifel's song: 'I'd give my heart'

_I've been dreaming for so long,  
To find a meaning to understand.  
The secret of life,  
Why am I here to try again? _

Will I always, will you always  
See the truth when it stares you in the face?  
Will I ever, will I never free myself  
By breaking these chains?

I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
I'd turn it back, it's my fault.  
Your destiny is forlorn,  
Have to live till it's undone.  
I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
I'd turn it back and then at last

_I'll be on my way. _

I've been living for so long,  
Many seasons have passed me by.  
I've seen kingdoms through the ages  
Rise and fall, I've seen it all.

I've seen the horror, I've seen the wonders  
Happening just in front of my eyes.  
Will I ever, will I never free myself

_By making it right? _

I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
I'd turn it back, it's my fault.  
Your destiny is forlorn,  
Have to live till it's undone.  
I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
I'd turn it back and then at last

_I'll be on my way. _

Aslan our dream ended long ago.  
All our stories and all our glory I held so dear.  
We won't be together  
For ever and ever, no more tears.  
I'll always be here until the end.  
Aslan, no more tears...  
Aslan, no more tears...

I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
I'd turn it back, it's my fault.  
Your destiny is forlorn,  
Have to live till it's undone.  
I'd give my heart, I'd give my soul  
I'd turn it back and then at last I'll be

_On my way._

**Peter's song: 'Stand my ground'**

_I can see  
When you stay low nothing happens  
Does it feel right ? _

_Am I alright?_

_Late at night  
Things I thought I put behind me  
Haunt my mind _

_Is it alright? _

I just know there's no escape  
Not once it sets its eyes on you  
But I won't run, have to stare it in the eye

Stand my ground, I won't give in  
No more denying, I got to face it  
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside  
If I don't make it, someone else will

_I can make it alright  
Stand my ground _

It's all around  
Getting stronger, coming closer  
Into my world

_Will it be alright? _

I can feel  
That it's time for me to face it  
Can I take it?

_Can I make it alright? _

Though this might just be the ending  
Of the life I held so dear  
But I won't run, there's no turning back from here

_I must make it alright _

Stand my ground, I won't give in  
No more denying, I got to face it  
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside  
If I don't make it, someone else will

_It will be alright  
Stand my ground  
_

_All I know for sure is I'm trying  
I will always stand my ground _

_Stand my ground _

Stand my ground, I won't give in

_I won't give up  
No more denying, I got to face it  
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside  
If I don't make it, someone else will_

_Someone will make it alright _

Stand my ground, I won't give in  
No more denying, I got to face it  
Won't close my eyes and hide the truth inside  
If I don't make it, someone else will

_Will you make it alright?  
Stand my ground_

_Stand my ground…_

**Questions answered:**

**1. What happened to Cifel, in the past?**

**A: Well, the full story behind that is planned to be put in the sequel. You didn't think I'd leave Cifel behind, did you? You'll just have to wait and see.**

**2. Rabadash; was he good or bad?**

**A: Sorry, I didn't make that very clear...it was the witch's influence, as you can see from the deleted scene above. As for why I killed him off...I had my reasons. Again, you'll have to wait for the sequel.**

**3. When is Peter going to tell the others a: about what happened to he and Edmund and b: that their father is dead?**

**A: a: The concept is that whenever Susan and Lucy asked, the boys hastily changed the subject. However, they shall find out at some point... b: You'll have to wait and see.**

**4.** **Did you actually tell us what Rabadash's real name was?**

**A: No. Have patience.**

**5. (From coolmarauders) How did you get the nerve to kill off Peter, Cifel and Edmund all in the same story!**

**A: (Smug grin) Technically, Cifel belongs to me. Edmund never actually died, and Cifel is not really alive in the physical sense at all. Apart from that...lets just say I am either insane or very daring; make your own distinction between the two.**

**Summary: Yeah, any loose ends have been left for a reason. Never fear. I do, amazingly, know vaguely what I am doing.**

**_Afterword from Authoress:_**

**_So there you have it. Ironic Synchronicity is finally over, for good. It's been a long, hard road, and I hope you've enjoyed reading just as much as I've enjoyed writing._**

**_I'm not sure exactly when the first chapter of the sequel will be up; it could be any length of time from three weeks to two months. But keep your eyes peeled, and you may find a few little in-between projects of mine popping up! _**

**_Yours in conclusion,_**

**_ohcEEcho_**

**_Thanks for reading!_**


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